


Hot Summer Nights

by elle1991



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, Emotional, Falling In Love, Feels, Fluff, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gay Steve Rogers, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Romance, Sex, Steve Rogers-centric, Story within a Story, Summer, Travel, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 105,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991/pseuds/elle1991
Summary: Publishing professional Steve Rogers hates flying. Nevertheless, when his boss asks him to represent their small LGBT publishing house at a worldwide romantic writers' conference in the UK, he cannot really say no.Cue two beautiful weeks in the picturesque English village of Thornton-le-Dale, during the hottest British summer for 50 years. The little bed-and-breakfast he is staying at is gorgeous - as is his fellow guest Bucky, the newly-single hunk staying in the room next door.The soaring temperatures have got everyone hot-blooded. It looks like it is going to be two weeks of scorching summer days and even hotter summer nights...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz & Steve Rogers, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Phil Coulson & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Jemma Simmons, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 804
Kudos: 355





	1. Screaming At 35,000 Feet

Steve Rogers had an acute fear of flying.

He did not consider it a phobia, because phobias were irrational, and he did not consider his fear irrational at all. To be terrified of hurtling through the air at 35,000 feet in a metal tube with a skin just millimetres across, in his mind, was a perfectly ordinary emotional reaction. If you added in the horrifying fact that the air outside the plane was roughly around -50 degrees (in both Celsius and Fahrenheit), and that you were travelling at a mind-boggling 575mph, the terror became even more justified.

If anything were to go wrong, the plane could explode, blasting out the passengers into the freezing cold winds, sending them hurtling down, down, down to their inevitable deaths, splattering onto the Earth's surface below. This was what Steve would explain, passionately, whenever someone would try to convince him that his fear of flying was irrational. There was nothing irrational about fearing the horrendous kind of death that horror films were literally based upon.

It was to his absolute sickening terror, therefore, that he was currently strapped into seat 12B of a seven-hour transatlantic flight going from Boston, USA to Manchester, England.

He was headed to the two-week-long Annual World Romantic Writers' Conference, representing his employer, Stanlee Publishers, a small LGBT publishing house based in his hometown of Boston. They specialised in publishing LGBT romance novels, and the prestigious global conference was a chance to meet and network with romantic novelists and literary agents from around the world. The hope was to sign on new undiscovered talent, maybe even discover the "next big thing”, the _Harry Potter_ of queer romantic fiction.

Stanlee Publishers was a small publishing house. There were only a dozen employees – and Steve considered each of them his friends. They felt more like family than colleagues. They were a tight-knit little group, with a shared passion of sharing under-represented authors and stories with the world.

His boss, Phil Coulson, was particularly keen on finding promising new authors via conferences, but was unable to fly due to an unspecified medical condition. Rumour had it that he had once been stabbed in the back by a psychopath with a spear, and Steve had enough tact not to ask about such a gruesome and obviously traumatic event. It was only for this reason, after many days of persuasion (AKA relentless nagging, puppy eyes, emotional blackmail and wearing him down), that Steve had finally agreed to go.

And so, that was why he was currently hurtling through the air at an ungodly 575mph, his eyes screwed shut as he clung on to his seat for dear life, bitterly regretting all his life decisions that had led up to that singularly terrifying point. He tried to remember the breathing exercises that Natasha from Marketing had tried to teach him before he left. He had only been half-listening to her, in a rush to grab his laptop from the office, and was now desperately wracking his memory. Was he supposed to breathe out for five seconds or ten? Before the answer could come to him, there was the click as the intercom from the cockpit turned on.

"Hey folks, this is your pilot speaking," said a cheerful female voice. "I hope you're enjoying your flight with us today. We're about to hit a patch of turbulence, so if everyone could please return to their seats and buckle up their seat belts, that would be great! Thank you."

Steve's eyes snapped open with dread. It was all his worst nightmares come true. He knew, with blinding certainty, that the plane was going to get shaken apart. All the passengers and crew would be blasted out into sub-zero temperatures. He wondered if he would freeze to death before hitting the ground, or if he would have to endure the terror of free-falling, reaching terminal velocity, wind whipping through his hair as the ground rushed up to meet him.

_Whoosh!_

The plane jolted downwards as it hit turbulence, a terrified, ear-splitting scream exploding from Steve's mouth before he could stop himself, his stomach lurching sickeningly as his life flashed before his eyes. He heard a few snickers from the seats behind him, but could not turn around to berate them. He was completely frozen in his seat, in equal parts mortified and terrified as the plane jolted once more, another scream bursting from him. The old lady seated to his right smiled sympathetically, patting his arm kindly as she turned towards him.

"There, there, dear," she said. "My grandson doesn't like flying either. Would you like to hold my hand?"

In ordinary circumstances, Steve would have turned down the offer. He was a strong, confident, manly man. Sucking and fucking dick did not change that, and he resented the camp stereotype that was often applied to gay men. However, in the face of what he perceived as his imminent demise, he concluded that these were no ordinary times. He nodded mutely, letting the elderly woman take his hand in a comforting and surprisingly firm grip.

_Whoosh!_

"ARRRRGH!"

"My name is Cynthia, by the way."

Clinging to Cynthia's hand as if his life depended on it, Steve dared to move his head a fraction to the side, allowing himself to look at his watch. He balked, utterly appalled to find that only one hour had passed since take-off. It had felt like a lifetime.

_Whoosh!_

"Fuuuuu–"

One hour down.

Just six more hours to go.

At least he had Cynthia.

* * *

To his sheer amazement, Steve landed in Manchester, England without dying from an aircraft explosion or a heart attack.

Drenched in sweat, he shakily walked down the aircraft steps, thanking and apologising to Cynthia profusely in equal measure as she hobbled down the steps beside him. To finally be back on solid ground was an enormous relief. To escape from that godforsaken metal tube, miraculously alive, was simultaneously astonishing, exhausting and exhilarating. He wanted to dance for joy, scream with delight (actually no, he had done enough screaming on the flight), and then curl up into a ball and sleep for a year.

No sooner had he breathed his first breath of freedom, than he was hit by a sweltering wall of heat. The English summer air hit him like a solid object, heat shimmering off the tarmac, hazy and humid, as the passengers were directed to a waiting shuttle bus. Steve could instantly feel himself starting to sweat, his face prickling with heat, the hot summer sun beating down on him relentlessly from above. After seven hours spent in an air-conditioned jet, he was vaguely aware that he should be appreciating the warmth, but in all honesty, he was too exhausted from the terror of the flight to do little more than put one foot in front of the other, following his herd of fellow travellers as they boarded the shuttle bus to be taken to the terminal.

The next hour passed by in a blur. Security. Immigration control. Customs. At some point, he lost sight of Cynthia, and he was vaguely disappointed that he did not get to say a proper goodbye to her, after she had so kindly looked after him on the plane. Presently, he was at the luggage carousel, his eyes fixed on his suitcase as it made its way slowly towards him on the conveyor belt. Grabbing it when it reached him, Steve finally squeezed his way out from the crowd, his anxiety beginning to loosen in his chest as he at last followed the signs for the exit.

Every step that carried him away from the planes felt lighter, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he was able to relax for the first time since leaving Boston. Gathering together some semblance of thought, he paused and reached into his bag, pulling out his travel instructions and skimming the lines of text quickly. He was to get the TransPennine Express from the airport's railway station to York. From there, he would get the 840 bus from York to Thornton-le-Dale, the little village that had been chosen as the location for this year's Annual World Romantic Writers' Conference.

Stuffing the instructions back in his bag, he began to follow the signs for the airport's railway station. Thankfully, the way was marked by large signs, bold yellow text on a black background; impossible even for someone with as poor a sense of direction as Steve to go wrong. He hurried along, his rucksack slung over his shoulder, his suitcase dragging behind him. He finally made it to the exit, following the signs down the wide, winding ramp taking him directly to the train station.

Several small trains were already idling on the tracks. They were small little things, just three carriages long, painted grey and light blue, bearing the TransPennine Express logo on their sides. Steve consulted the screens showing the various trains' routes, identifying the first one leaving to pass through York: platform 4, leaving in one minute... After a second of dithering indecision, he took off at a sprint to platform 4, his suitcase rattling madly behind him, managing to hop through the train doors with just seconds to spare, the doors sliding shut smoothly behind him as he caught his breath and let out a whoop of triumph.

He smiled politely at several startled-looking passengers, before stowing his luggage in the luggage rack and finding a spare seat nearby. Fishing his mobile phone out of his pocket, he turned it on, wiping the mucky fingerprints off his screen using the hem of his sleeve. He had promised to message Phil, his boss, when he landed. No sooner had he opened up his contacts, however, than his phone began to vibrate with an incoming video call. He smiled when he saw the caller ID: Natasha Romanoff.

He answered the video call, grinning when a familiar mop of curly red hair filled his screen. Natasha was his best friend at work. She was the one and only member of the marketing department at Stanlee Publishers, earning her the official title of Head of Marketing and the unofficial, self-proclaimed title of Chief Bitch. She fluctuated between being a badass and a pain _in_ the ass, but Steve would not have it any other way. Natasha's quirks and sometimes terrifying demeanour were what made her who she was.

"Wow, you survived the flight," said Natasha drily. "Congratulations."

Steve stuck a middle finger up towards the camera, nevertheless unable to stop the grin spreading over his face.

"Yeah, I'm great, thanks for _not_ asking," he shot back.

"Seriously though," said Natasha, leaning in towards the screen, her green eyes staring at him earnestly, "how _did_ you survive? I thought you'd have had five heart attacks, at least."

Steve closed his eyes, allowing himself one brief moment of self-pity before resigning himself to Natasha's brutal ribbing.

"If I ever make it back to the US alive, I'm going to kill Phil," said Steve.

"Hey Steve!" Phil stuck his head into the screen beside Natasha, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Wait, what did you just say?"

"Oh, uhh... Hey boss," said Steve.

There was a beat of silence, before the three of them cracked up into peals of laughter, Natasha and Phil shaking on the screen as Natasha's hand holding the camera jiggled.

"I'm glad you're there safely though, seriously," said Natasha once the laughter had subsided. "I'm so jealous! Make sure to take lots of pictures; I need to live vicariously through you."

Steve assured her that he would indeed take pictures when he got the chance, and that he would update them on the conference once it began, before saying his goodbyes, giving Natasha and Phil a wave and hanging up.

It was shortly afterwards that the ticket inspector came down the carriage. Steve bought a ticket to York, after a brief period of fiddling about trying to figure out British money. The ticket inspector waited patiently, obviously used to overseas visitors from the airport unused to the currency. Just as he began to move away down the carriage, Steve had the presence of mind to call out one last important question.

"How long until we arrive at York?"

The ticket inspector checked his watch.

"About two hours," he said.

Steve thanked him, before pulling out his phone and setting an alarm for two hours' time. He wanted to sleep on the train.

God knows he had not got any rest on the plane.

* * *

The train journey from Manchester to York was two peaceful hours of dozing in and out of sleep.

The bus journey from York to Thornton-le-Dale was an altogether different one hour and twenty minutes. The busy double-decker bus did not have any air conditioning, meaning that with every passing minute, Steve was growing sweatier and sweatier, crammed into the back seat with his luggage squashed next to him, passengers in every available seat, each as hot and uncomfortable as the next. Steve tried to distract himself by looking out of the window, gazing out at the rural scenery as it rushed past.

The Yorkshire countryside was beautiful. Patchwork fields lined with hedgerows, sheep and cows grazing on the grass, picturesque little villages flashing by as the bus rumbled along the winding roads. It was gorgeous, the kind of stunning that won photography competitions and got plastered on the front of travel brochures. He knew he should appreciate such exquisite beauty, he really did, but he simply could not.

The windows of the jam-packed bus were large – great for enjoying the view, but unfortunately also great for mimicking the effects of a greenhouse. The midday sun was searing down from above, not a cloud in the sky, absolutely scorching, heating up the inside of the bus like an oven. The air in the bus was hot and stuffy. Steve could feel the sweat soaking through his shirt, making his back stick uncomfortably to his seat. He wiped his brow, his hand coming away wet with sweat.

An elderly man sat next to him saw this and nodded seriously, as if Steve had just initiated conversation.

"It's the hottest June for over fifty years!" he said. "The Met Office are saying this heatwave could last at least another three weeks."

Steve gawped. He had thought that the weather in Britain was supposed to be drab and unexciting. He had not expected a record-breaking heatwave, let alone the type of heat that made it feel as though he were literally cooking alive. He could think of nothing more enticing than the prospect of finally getting into a shower and washing the sweat, grime, and the smell of the plane off his skin. He fervently hoped that his accommodation would have good water pressure.

At last, the bus reached the village of Thornton-le-Dale, Steve apologising constantly as he made his way to the front of the bus, his large suitcase jostling everyone as he went past. Thanking the driver, he stepped off the bus, momentarily disconcerted to be stepping off on the left rather than the right; the British drove on the opposite side of the road compared to the US. He watched the bus as it trundled away, before digging out a sheet of paper from Google Maps that he had printed off earlier.

He looked at the nearest road sign, getting his bearings and working out his position on the map. It seemed that he was actually quite close to his accommodation – a bed-and-breakfast called Buttercup Cottage – it seemed to be just several streets away. Satisfied that he had memorised the route, he stuffed the map into his pocket and gathered up his luggage, finally looking properly at his surroundings and gasping softly with shock.

The village of Thornton-le-Dale was picture-postcard perfect. Pretty little houses with terracotta roof tiles lined the quiet street, flowers blooming in the small gardens, ivy creeping up some of the walls. A small stream ran right next to the street, gurgling quietly, meaning that residents who lived on that side of the road had small individual footbridges leading to their front doors. The road was quiet, the soothing sound of crickets chirping the only noise to pierce the hot summer air. Taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of his surroundings, Steve felt a smile spread across his face. He got to spend two weeks here, in this perfect slice of idyllic English countryside. It made the flight seem almost worth it.

He began to move, dragging his suitcase behind him, the wheels rumbling on the pavement as he navigated his way to his accommodation. He gazed around in awe as he walked along, passing the village green and some small shops before turning off into a more residential-looking street. Even here, it was beautiful. He peered at the old buildings as he walked by, so different from what he was used to seeing back home. At last, he reached his accommodation, a painted wooden sign hanging from a post in the front garden bearing its name in old-fashioned typescript: _Buttercup Cottage_.

Buttercup Cottage was a tiny bed-and-breakfast of just three guest rooms. It was a beautiful old building, made from pale-looking stone, with wooden window frames lovingly painted white. Ivy grew up one side, the colourful leaves clinging to the stone. A jolly jumble of rustic orange roof tiles topped it off, making the building look both chaotic and homely. The little front garden was a riot of colour; wildflowers growing around a tiny lawn, with a pale green wooden bench squashed in at the side. Steve made his way up the short path, dragging his suitcase behind him, entering through the open front door to find a blissfully cool interior. He exhaled with relief, glad to at last escape the unrelenting heat.

He made his way down the short entrance corridor, following a sign for reception and the sound of two people bickering. He rounded the corner to find a man and a woman crammed behind a small reception desk, arguing passionately, it seemed, about black holes.

"There's just no evidence that black holes can be used to transport matter!" said the woman. "Think about it, a white hole hasn't ever been observed. Why? Because they don't _exist_."

"The Big Bang could have been a white hole mass ejection!" said the man. "If we could only send in a monkey with a probe–"

"For God's sake, Fitz, not monkeys again..."

Steve walked up to their desk, clearing his throat to announce his presence – which seemed to have no effect whatsoever.

"Come on, Jemma! Monkeys are smart. And they've got adorable little monkey hands."

"That's not the point."

Steve cleared his throat again, more loudly this time, trying in vain to get their attention.

"OK, it's not. But you know as well as I do that just because something hasn't been discovered, doesn't mean it's not real."

"But wormholes, Fitz?! Linking two unrelated parts of time and space? It's crazy!"

"Hey there!" said Steve loudly, plastering a smile across his face when two astonished faces turned in his direction. "I hope I'm not interrupting..."

Their shocked expressions immediately morphed into friendly smiles, instantly putting Steve at ease. They had an authentic kind of vibe that suggested that what you saw was exactly what you got, which in their case seemed to be a double dose of geeky yet genuine charm.

"Welcome to Buttercup Cottage!" said the woman. "I'm Jemma Simmons."

"And I'm Leo Fitz," chipped in the man. "We'll be your minions for the duration of your visit."

Jemma's smile widened, her stance shifting in a way that looked suspiciously like she had just kicked Fitz behind the desk.

"He means receptionists," said Jemma. "Who also do all the cooking and cleaning and... Damn it, we're minions, aren't we?"

Steve laughed, immediately taking a liking to their dorky energy. They seemed so in sync that he suspected they spent a great deal of time together even outside of work hours. They both appeared to be in their mid-to-late twenties, their accents suggesting that Jemma was English whilst Leo was Scottish. They were dressed in what could only be described as casual geek chic (emphasis on the geek), their faces a little tanned from the heatwave, with a faint smattering of freckles on Jemma's cheeks. Jemma had straight brown hair that fell just below her shoulders, warm brown eyes and a slightly serious expression. Leo was fairer, his short curly hair a lighter shade of brown, his eyes blue and an impish smile that suggested he was the joker of the pair.

"Do you have a reservation?" asked Jemma.

"Sure," said Steve, fishing a copy of his booking out of his bag. "Steve Rogers, staying for two weeks. Reference number GH5JT4."

Jemma typed quickly into a computer, her fingers dancing on the keyboard. Pulling up his reservation from the system, she smiled, checking him in and prompting Leo to get Steve's room key. Leo rummaged around beneath the desk, before pulling out a large metal key with a grin and a flourish, handing it over to Steve.

"You're all checked in now!" said Jemma brightly. "Breakfast is served in the lounge area from 7am to 10am."

"Lunch and dinner you have to feed yourself," added Leo.

"And at least one of us should always be around to answer any questions," continued Jemma. "Or if you just want tips for what to see and do around here."

Steve nodded, unable to hide his smile at how the two of them were seemingly unaware that they were so in sync, finishing one another's sentences and carrying the one conversation between them as if they were psychically linked.

"That's great," said Steve. "Thanks guys. Hey, is there anything I should know straight up about life in England compared to the States?"

"What you call pants, we call trousers," said Leo. "And what _we_ call pants, _you_ call underwear. So, don't compliment someone on their pants, unless you want to sound like a huge pervert."

Leo was looking at him with an expression of utmost seriousness, whilst Jemma was rolling her eyes in a way that suggested it was far from the first time she had heard Leo dish out that sage piece of advice.

"And be careful when crossing the road," said Jemma. "We drive on the left, not the right like in America. A lot of American tourists forget that and just step out into traffic looking the wrong way."

Steve nodded, absorbing both pieces of advice with a grin.

"Alright," he said. "Don't talk about pants. Be careful when crossing the road. Gotcha."

He tucked his room key into his pocket and gathered up his belongings, turning to leave, before realising he did not know the way.

"Room 2. You're upstairs," said Jemma. "Just take the staircase and your room is the one on the right."

"Is there air-con?" asked Steve.

To his horror, Leo and Jemma exchanged grimaces.

"No, sorry," said Jemma. "But there's an electric fan."

"I could probably modify it to be super-powerful!" said Leo excitedly, his expression hopeful.

Jemma tutted, shaking her head reproachfully.

"Remember the rule," she said. "No experimental inventions in the guest rooms."

Leo sighed, looking disappointed.

"The window opens though," he said. "And you can turn the shower as hot or cold as you want it."

Steve hoped it would be enough. The prospect of a cold shower right now was heavenly.

"OK," he said. "Thanks."

He turned to leave, giving them a smile before making his way to the narrow wooden staircase that led up to the upstairs guest rooms.

"Oh, are you with the other American gentleman who checked in a little earlier?" Jemma called out after him. "So I know how to set the tables for breakfast."

Steve looked back to see both their faces poking out from the reception kiosk, and shook his head.

"Nope," he said. "I'm travelling alone."

Leo and Jemma withdrew their heads back behind the desk and resumed their conversation about black holes. Steve smiled to himself. He liked them, he decided; they were nice, in a quirky, nerdy kind of way.

He hauled his luggage up the narrow staircase. It was wooden and rickety, creaking beneath his feet in a way that suggested it was well-used. He wondered how many people had used the staircase, over the years. Buttercup Cottage looked to be several hundred years old, at least. The staircase turned a corner half-way up, before finally emerging onto an equally narrow landing. The floor was covered in a rug embroidered with roses. There were two rooms on this floor, with the numbers painted on in ornate black numerals: room 3 straight ahead, and room 2 (his own) to his right, just as Jemma had promised.

Fishing his key out of his pocket, he unlocked his bedroom door, nudging it open with his ass and dragging in his luggage backwards, before turning around, his gaze falling upon his home for the next two weeks. He smiled immediately.

The room was beautiful, with that same cosy, old-fashioned vibe of the rest of the cottage. The wooden floorboards were smooth and solid underfoot. The walls were cream and decorated with gorgeous paintings of what Steve could only assume was the local countryside. The furniture was wooden and painted in cool, neutral colours. The bed was the softest, cosiest thing he had ever seen, with a quaint, wrought iron headboard that formed an intricate swirling pattern. The rose theme had continued from the rug on the landing, with roses decorating the duvet and curtains.

He let out a sigh he had not even realised he was holding, all the stress of the day leaving him at last. He dumped his luggage on the bed, promising himself to unpack everything properly later, before stripping off his clothes, not even realising how grotty he was until the material of his shirt literally peeled off his back. Dumping his clothes on the end of the bed, he made his way into the bathroom, relieved to find that here at least were some modern-looking appliances.

He stepped into the shower, setting the temperature to lukewarm, and turned it on, a moan escaping him as gloriously high water pressure massaged his muscles with cool water. He revelled in the low temperature, sighing as it cooled him down, washing away the smell of the plane and the sweat from that sweltering bus journey from York to Thornton-le-Dale.

Nothing had ever felt so glorious.

* * *

It was about quarter past nine that evening, and Steve was watching the sunset from his bedroom window in Buttercup Cottage.

It had been a long day. He was tired and ready for bed, but in that satisfied way that followed a day of hard work and accomplishment. OK, so he had not done any actual work, but facing his fear of flying and successfully making it across the Atlantic Ocean without dying (albeit without his dignity intact) was something he nevertheless considered a win.

He watched as the sky turned from blue, to yellow, to orange, before transforming into a vivid pink, finally settling down into a darkening blue. He smiled. He knew it was only a work trip, that he was just here for the conference, but nevertheless he intended to make the most of it, to enjoy his two weeks in England, to spend at least the weekends exploring this beautiful little village and the surrounding area, so rustic and quaint, seemingly untouched by time.

As the sky began to darken into an inky navy blue, he closed his curtains, settling down into bed, the mattress squeaking slightly as he got in, before closing his eyes, intent on sleep.

_Squeak, squeak, squeak..._

Steve snuggled against his pillow, waiting for his mattress to stop swaying and squeaking beneath him. It took longer than expected, the sound still going on thirty seconds later.

_Squeak, squeak, squeak..._

And then:

"Ahhh, yeah..."

Steve eyes snapped open in the darkness, immediately blushing when he realised that the squeaking he was hearing was not coming from his own bed, but from his neighbour in room 3 – who, if his moan was anything to go by, was currently jacking off, blissfully unaware that the thin cottage walls meant Steve could hear every single noise. Steve put his pillow on top of his head, trying to block out the noise to spare the other man's dignity.

_Squeak, squeak, squeak..._

He could hear the sound of the bed swaying in time with the man's hand wanking his cock, but at the same time he could hear something else, tinnier and more artificial: male moans, several of them – and wait... was that music?! Oh God. Steve's eyes widened, if possible, even further. The guy was watching porn. Gay porn, by the sounds of it. Jesus... Against his better judgement, Steve slowly removed the pillow from over his head, torn between guilt and arousal as he listened to the other man jerk off.

He tried to ignore the sounds coming from the neighbouring room, half-embarrassed, half-turned on as the sounds of the bed squeaking and the man moaning floated through the thin wall. He gazed hopelessly at the ceiling in the darkness. It was simply impossible not to hear it. The building was so old, the walls so thin, that the sound simply passed straight through, barely muffled.

Unbidden, images of the other man's activities crept into Steve's mind. He imagined the man's hand working feverishly at his cock, his eyes locked on the screen of his mobile phone, watching the men on the screen fuck hard. Steve swallowed, his imagination going into overdrive, wondering whether the man next door liked to top or bottom when he fucked, what his cock looked like, what his face looked like. God, what was he _thinking_?! Nonetheless, Steve's traitorous cock stirred with interest, hardening as the other man let out a particularly loud moan in the next room.

_Squeak, squeak, squeak..._

Was it Steve's imagination, or was the speed of the other man's jerking getting faster?

_Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak!_

Definitely not Steve's imagination. By now, Steve's own cock was fully erect; hard and aching. Suddenly, the squeaking next door stopped, followed immediately by a low, guttural moan of pleasure. Steve closed his eyes, biting his lip as he imagined the other man's come spurting from his cock as he orgasmed. For a little while afterwards, there was nothing, until eventually he heard the man get off the bed and walk across his room, shortly followed by the sound of a shower running.

Steve's own boner was not going down. He lay there in silence, rock hard and weeping pre-come from the tip.

If, perchance, he went on to quietly jerk off and relieve himself of his burgeoning erection – and if, just maybe, the memory of the stranger's muffled moans through the wall were the internal soundtrack that got him off – well, he would never tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/618275177316368384/hot-summer-nights-written-by-elle1991-on-ao3). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3
> 
> THOUGHTS: Posting a new story is always a daunting experience... so your feedback (especially if it's positive) would be much appreciated! What do you think so far? Are you enjoying it? Are you intrigued? Are you horny? All of the above? Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> TEASER: Chapter 2 will see Steve meet the man staying in the room next door. I wonder who it could possibly be... “See” you then ;)
> 
> STANLEE PUBLISHERS: Stanlee Publishers does not exist. The name is a tribute to the amazing Stan Lee who helped build the Marvel Universe we love so much. Thank you, Stan <3
> 
> THORNTON-LE-DALE: Thornton-le-Dale is a real village in North Yorkshire, England! It really is gorgeous, so I definitely recommend checking out pictures online (or even visiting in person if you're nearby, once the lockdown is over). In this story, I will portray how the village looks fairly faithfully (with some minor changes to suit the plot), but the businesses (e.g. Buttercup Cottage, and the names of the pubs) will be fictional. I've been to the village multiple times over the years, as I live in that general area (North Yorkshire). I hope you enjoy this little taste from near my home :)
> 
> AGENTS OF SHIELD EASTER EGGS: If any Agents of SHIELD fans are reading this, you will know the lovely Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons! You may also have picked up on a little Easter egg, where Jemma scoffs at the idea of a wormhole being able to connect two parts of time and space. Monoliths, anyone? ;) You may also recognise Leo's obsession with monkeys, which was strong in the early seasons of the show!
> 
> AVENGERS EASTER EGG: Well done if you spotted the significance of this line about Phil Coulson: "Rumour had it that he had once been stabbed in the back by a psychopath with a spear". This is of course a little nod to the events of the first Avengers film, where Loki stabbed Coulson with the scepter, even though this story is not taking place in that universe and the stabber in his fic is just some random terrible person.
> 
> TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the name [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/). I will be posting pics and teasers about all the characters in this fic over the next week, so feel free to check out and maybe follow my blog if you like the sound of that!


	2. The Annual World Romantic Writers' Conference

Steve woke up, slowly, in the world's most comfortable bed.

He cracked his eyes open, smiling when his quaint room at Buttercup Cottage came into view, somehow even more beautiful in the white morning sunshine that was seeping in through the thin curtains. He stretched languidly, his back popping as he yawned. He felt well and truly rested. The tension in his muscles from the stressful flight the day before was all gone. He felt reinvigorated, refreshed, ready to take on the first day of the two-week Annual World Romantic Writers' Conference. His gaze drifted from a painting of a willow tree on the wall to the digital clock sitting on his bedside table, the time blinking at him innocently.

_9:14am._

Steve stared at it in frozen horror for a moment, before hurling himself out of bed, his legs tangling up in his blanket and almost making him fall flat on his face. He wrenched his feet free from the blanket, before dashing across the room and wrenching open his wardrobe, grabbing the first clothes he could get his hands on. 9:14am?! Oh, Jesus Christ on a bike. The conference had begun quarter of an hour ago.

How the hell had he managed to sleep in on the first day of such an important conference?! He was normally so punctual, completely professional when it came to meetings and deadlines. The previous night, he had set the alarm on his phone for 7am, two solid hours before the start of the conference.

Zipping up his trousers and fiddling with his shirt buttons, he marched across the room, nudging his mobile phone to see why the hell it had not woken him. The screen lit up, the time glowing up at him – Boston time, that was, five hours behind the UK. Gnashing his teeth in frustration that he had forgotten something so stupid as to change the time zone on his phone, Steve finally finished buttoning his shirt, grabbing his bag and shoving inside his laptop, a stack of business cards and some chewing gum so that he would not horrify the conference attendees with his morning breath. He pulled his shoes onto his feet and tied his laces in record time, before slinging his bag over his back and dashing to the bedroom door, daring to look at his watch as he did so.

9:23am.

Bloody hell.

He wrenched open the door, marching out and promptly crashing right into a sleepy-looking man who was shuffling along the landing towards room 3, a cup of tea in his hand, obviously having just come back from breakfast. A large portion of the tea slopped out onto the rose-patterned rug, the man staring in surprise as his morning drink soaked into the plush material. Steve blushed, blurting out his apologies, before blushing even harder when he remembered the previous night.

This was the man who he had heard jerking off and orgasming through the wall.

Steve stared at him, unable to look away, awkwardness and embarrassment exploding in his chest. Fuck. The man was hot. More than hot, in fact, _gorgeous_. He seemed to be around the same age as Steve, in his mid-thirties, with piercing blue eyes and dark hair that was rumpled with sleep, plus a sculpted beard that Steve wanted nothing more than to rub his face in. He was dressed only in a t-shirt and shorts, showing off his lean, muscular body. Steve's brain helpfully supplied images of the man wanking feverishly on his squeaky bed, his traitorous cock hardening with interest. Panic-stricken, Steve positioned a hand over his crotch to hide the bulge.

"Fuck, sorry," said Steve, and then, because he was a moron: "Morning. I mean, uh... Bye."

The other man stared at him, his face crumpling with confusion.

"I... What?" he said.

The man had an American accent. Steve detected a New York twang. Steve glanced down at his watch, anxiety exploding in his chest when he saw that time was slipping away. He knew he was being a rude asshole, that he should apologise properly for spilling the man's drink and offer to fetch some more from downstairs, but there simply was not enough time. Cringing internally, he squeezed past the man, muttering apologies, the narrowness of the corridor meaning that their bodies brushed against each other. Steve desperately hoped that the other man would not feel his semi-hard cock.

Without a backwards glance, Steve ran down the corridor, cringing hard and radiating embarrassment, leaving the befuddled man in his wake. He clattered down the narrow staircase, emerging on the bottom floor to the delicious smell of cooking. Jemma was on reception, smiling when she saw him hurrying in her direction.

"Breakfast?" she said.

Steve shook his head, skidding to a halt in front of her.

"Sorry, no time," he said quickly. "I'm running late. Can you tell me the way to the Annual World Romantic Writers' Conference?"

Jemma immediately reached behind her, grabbing a local map and a pen. She drew two circles on the map, before linking them with a short squiggly line.

"This is where we are," she said, pointing with her pen to the first circle. "You want to go to Sullivan's Hall. This route," she said, tracing the line with the tip of her pen, "is the fastest. It should take you five minutes if you walk fast."

Steve took the map from her, thanking her profusely. He turned to go, but not before Jemma hurried out from behind the reception desk, dashing into one of the side rooms.

"Just wait a second!" she called.

She returned a few moments later, clutching a stack of toast and pushing it into his hands.

"Take this," she said, smiling up at him, slightly out of breath. "You shouldn't go on an empty stomach."

Steve smiled at her gratefully, touched by the small but kind gesture.

"Thank you," he said, the delightful smell of fresh toast making his stomach growl. "You're a star."

Jemma smiled shyly, her face lighting up at the compliment.

Steve shoved half a piece of toast into his mouth, before glancing down at his watch.

9:29am.

Fuck.

He ran out of the front door.

* * *

The Annual World Romantic Writers' Conference was held at Sullivan's Hall, a large stately home situated just outside the village.

It was a grand, impressive building, made from the same pale stone as Buttercup Cottage but on an altogether more luxurious scale. The opulent rooms were large and airy, illuminated by tall, wide windows that had been fully opened to allow in a faint summer breeze. The sprawling grounds, too, had been transformed for the conference, sporting several huge white marquees to accommodate all the attendees and sessions.

No one seemed to mind Steve's late arrival, with many attendees still in fact milling around chatting with one another when he got there at 9:35am, enjoying complementary tea and biscuits. Steve brushed the toast crumbs from the front of his shirt, grabbed an itinerary of the day's events from a table, and immediately set about networking, smiling and introducing himself to a group of people nearby.

He quickly got into the swing of it. It was a busy, well-organised conference, with workshops for writers, sessions with advice for new publishing houses, and networking areas. Steve threw himself into it, his natural extroversion making it feel more like fun than work. He did not find an area specifically for LGBT fiction, so asked permission from one of the event's organisers to set one up himself. Permission granted, he quickly drew a colourful banner and erected it in a corner of one of the marquees, finding to his delight that there was immediately some interest, various LGBT authors coming forward to talk to him about their book ideas.

Over the course of the morning, Steve heard a fascinating plethora of book pitches. They ranged from a lesbian vampire comedy horror flick, to an uplifting asexual coming-of-age saga, to a heart-breaking gay romantic tragedy. He was impressed by the breadth and depth of the ideas being put forward. By the time lunchtime rolled around, he had gained the contact details of about a dozen or so promising authors.

After a quick lunch of tea and sandwiches, the afternoon continued in much the same productive vein. He switched his focus, this time networking with as many relevant literary agents as he could, managing to find a few who specialised in LGBT romantic fiction. They talked enthusiastically, swapping business cards and promising to work together in the future.

He felt himself getting happier and happier as the day wore on. He was gaining a decent stack of highly relevant business contacts. There were a few authors with books already fully written. If the first day was already going this well, he could not wait to see how much he could achieve across the whole two weeks. Phil was going to be ecstatic.

At 5pm, the conference finally drew to a close for the day, people drifting off and dispersing when the time was announced over the sound system. Steve packed away his makeshift banner and made sure all the business cards and contact details he had collected were stowed away safely in his bag, before making his way out of the marquee onto the lush green grass. There, to his surprise, he could see workers beginning to dismantle some of the other marquees. He stared at them in confusion, his frown deepening when he saw various equipment being loaded onto removal vans and driven away.

He saw the receding back of an event steward nearby and jogged after them, calling out to get their attention. The steward turned around, revealing himself to be a young man, probably in his late teens, with shoulder-length red hair and an extremely bored expression on his face. A name tag on his shirt read: _Jake, happy to help!_ He did not look, by any measure, particularly happy to help. Steve could sympathise. He imagined that after spending all day working in the summer heat, Jake must be ready to go home – but not before Steve could find out what the hell was going on.

"Hey," said Steve, pointing at a nearby removal van. "What's happening here?"

Jake stared at the removal van and back to Steve as if he were some kind of supreme moron.

"They're packing stuff away," said Jake.

Steve forced himself to keep smiling politely, trying not to let his annoyance at Jake's non-answer show on his face.

"Yeah, I can see that," he said evenly. "But _why?_ "

Jake was staring at him as if he had grown an extra head.

"Because the conference is over," said Jake, in a tone of voice that said _duh_.

Steve shook his head. That could not be true. The information that Phil had given him was completely different.

"But this is a two-week conference," said Steve. "This is day one. How can it be over?"

Jake's eyes widened incredulously.

"Mate, this is a two- _day_ conference," said Jake. "This is day _two_. It's over."

The beginnings of panic were starting to gnaw at Steve's stomach. He had spent seven long hours terrified out of his mind over the Atlantic Ocean for the sole purpose of representing Stanlee Publishers at the Annual World Romantic Writers' Conference. The prospect of it all having been for nothing, and having to return home tomorrow, was simply horrifying. It had taken weeks to psych himself up for the flight from Boston. He did not know if he could cope with another flight being sprung on him again so suddenly and unexpectedly.

"Are you sure?" he asked desperately. Perhaps Jake had made a mistake. Oh, dear God, _please_ let it be a mistake.

For a split second, Jake looked as though he was going to roll his eyes. He seemed then, however, to pick up on the growing look of panic on Steve's face, his expression softening with what looked like genuine concern and sympathy.

"Yeah," said Jake. "Sorry, mate. Did you travel far?"

Steve swallowed, suddenly feeling shaky and light-headed as he remembered the terror of the flight, seven hours trapped inside a metal tube hurtling through the planet's atmosphere, screaming every time the plane hit turbulence. He had crossed one of the largest oceans in the world, travelled to a completely different continent, for this conference. He nodded, shivering, his stomach heavy as lead and his chest suddenly tight.

"Yeah," said Steve. "You could say that."

* * *

Back in his room at Buttercup Cottage, Steve dumped his bag on the bed and booted up his laptop on the dressing table.

He connected to the Wi-Fi, before launching Skype and clicking on Phil's contact. He paused. This was going to be a difficult conversation. He wondered which was the better approach: to jump straight to the point, or to soften Phil up a little before delivering the bad news. He hoped Phil would not be too angry about the mix-up; he was usually a kind and gentle boss. Taking a few moments to compose himself with this reassuring knowledge, Steve swallowed back his nerves and hit the button to start a video call.

_Video calling Phil Coulson..._

Phil picked up on the third ring, his smiling face filling the screen, blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Steve!" he said. "How was day one of the conference?"

Straight to the point, then. Steve smiled, hoping that it did not come across as a grimace.

"Uh... It was good," he said. "Networked with a lot of great writers and literary agents, gained a lot of contacts to follow up with later."

He paused, unsure how to continue. Phil appeared not to notice his hesitation, beaming with delight into the camera.

"Wow, that's awesome!" he said enthusiastically. "Well done! Are you looking forward to day two tomorrow?"

After a moment's dithering hesitation, Steve gave up the pretence, letting his face fall as he massaged his temples, where he could feel the beginnings of a tension headache starting to form.

"Yeah, about that..." he said.

He explained what had happened: how he had been confused to see the marquees and equipment being dismantled and taken away at the end of the day; how Jake, the event steward, had explained to him that it was day _two_ of a two- _day_ conference, not day _one_ of a two- _week_ conference; how a more senior event organiser had confirmed what Jake had said, when Steve had sought out confirmation of the terrible news. He watched miserably as Phil became visibly more and more confused on the screen.

"Who the hell did the research for this event?" finished Steve. "How did we get it so wrong?"

Phil bit his lip, the sound of keys clacking filling Steve's headphones as Phil delved deep into his records, seeking out the original event research. If Phil could only be described in a single word, it would be _organised_. He kept meticulous records of everything that went on in the company, keeping a written overview of all activity, ensuring nothing was left undocumented in case it could turn out to be useful later. Steve watched as Phil's eyes darted across the screen, his typing and mouse clicking audible through the speakers. Finally, the other man found the information he was looking for.

"The event research was done by... Peter," said Phil.

Steve stared at him, trying not to let his confusion show on his face, lest his current thought be that of a complete and utter dumbass: _Who the hell is Peter?_ Stanlee Publishers was a small company. Really small. As in, only twelve employees, all of whom Steve knew very well, and _none_ of whom were named Peter. Steve wracked his brain, trying desperately to remember if any of his colleagues ever went by their middle names, but no, that did not ring true either. He thought back over the months, trying to remember if there had been any temporary staff who had slipped his mind, and suddenly, it came to him.

Peter Parker. The kid was the nephew of one of his fellow editors, May. He had come in for a couple of weeks of work experience about six months ago, around Christmas. He had been keen, smart, and enthusiastic – but nevertheless just a sixteen-year-old kid – in no way qualified to have OK-ed the event or booked the flights and accommodation.

"Peter _Parker_?" said Steve. "You let Peter organise this whole thing by himself?!"

"No!" said Phil, sounding a little affronted, a blush tainting his cheeks. "His work was supervised and double-checked at all times!"

"By whom?!" said Steve.

Phil looked flustered, madly typing away as he trawled through his meticulous notes once again. Suddenly, he stopped dead, his expression slowly morphing into one of horror as he found his answer. Steve found himself leaning forwards in anticipation, literally on the edge of his seat.

"Oh..." said Phil. "Oh no..."

"What?" said Steve urgently. "Who supervised Peter?"

Phil's horrified gaze met Steve's over the webcam, their eyes locking as he uttered one syllable that suddenly made this entire cluster-fuck make a whole lot more sense.

"Brock."

Steve closed his eyes, breathing deeply before exhaling long and hard. Brock fucking Rumlow. The guy was an ex-employee at Stanlee Publishers; the one and only person in the company's history to have ever been fired. He had been rude, lazy and a general douchebag. He had missed deadlines, tried to palm off his responsibilities to colleagues, and then been argumentative and aggressive when colleagues would turn around and say no. Both his attitude and his work ethic had been frankly appalling.

The final straw had come about two months ago, when it was discovered that he had been masturbating to porn in his office during work hours, at a time when everyone else had been working their asses off trying to onboard a big new client. Brock had been fired on the spot. It was the one and only time Steve had ever seen Phil yell at anyone. If Brock were the one who was supposed to have supervised Peter, then suddenly it made a lot more sense how Peter's innocent mistake could have slipped through the net of oversight. Brock bloody Rumlow apparently could not even be trusted to check the work of a literal child.

Steve groaned, burying his head in his hands.

"So... What happens now?" he asked. "Do I have to change my flight to come home tomorrow?"

Phil chewed his lip, scrunching up his nose as he thought about it. After a few moments, he shook his head.

"No," he said. "Changing the flight would cost us even more money. Just... take a vacation? Enjoy two weeks in England. Have a break."

Steve's eyes widened. Of all the outcomes he had been expecting, this had not been one of them. He fiddled with the wire of his headphones uncertainly. Of course, he was relieved at the prospect of not having to board another plane in the immediate future, and the thought of getting to enjoy two weeks in this glorious summer heatwave was thrilling – but at the same time, he did not want to abuse Phil's good nature.

"Are you sure?" said Steve. "I mean, I'd love to spend two weeks' vacation here, but only if you're certain."

Phil smiled and nodded, waving his hand casually.

"Of course," he said. "Enjoy yourself. You work hard; you didn't even take all your paid vacation days last year. You deserve it."

Steve felt a smile spread slowly across his face. Two weeks of paid holiday, in the beautiful little village of Thornton-le-Dale? He could not think of anything more relaxing. The bubble of anxiety that had been growing in his chest dissolved into nothing, happiness and excitement blossoming in its place.

The next two weeks were going to be incredible, he thought.

He did not know they would change his life.

* * *

That evening, after having dinner at one of the local cafes, he wandered back to Buttercup Cottage.

He headed back to his room, changing into a more casual outfit of a t-shirt and a pair of soft, loose-fitting shorts. The heat of the day was finally beginning to ease, the sun sinking lazily down the sky towards the horizon. He watched it for a while from his window, smiling as he remembered he did not have work in the morning. On a whim, he decided to explore the cottage. He had been so tired after arriving the previous day, and in such a rush to leave for the conference that morning, that he had not yet had a proper look around.

Sticking his key into his pocket, he left his room, stepping out onto the rose-patterned carpet which now had a large tea stain splashed near the edge. He cringed as he remembered his encounter with his neighbour from room 3 that morning, accidentally spilling the other man's drink and then immediately rushing off to the conference. He pondered whether to knock on the other man's door to apologise, but decided against it – he had already had enough awkwardness that day; he was not enough of a masochist to seek out extra.

Steve had a nosy around the top floor. There was not much to see up there, he concluded. It seemed that the upstairs of the cottage was simply those two rooms and the narrow landing connecting to the rickety wooden staircase. He headed down the stairs, emerging into the downstairs hallway. To his left was the reception booth, where Leo was sat reading a book – and further beyond that, a room that Steve had not explored yet. He walked past Leo, giving him a smile as he did so, entering the room which he now remembered as the one Jemma had fetched his toast from that morning.

It was a large, quaint-looking dining room, with several large wooden tables and a delightfully odd assortment of various comfortable-looking chairs. The tables were covered in lacy white cloth, topped with colourful little hand-painted pots containing flowers that looked as though they were freshly picked from the front garden. A large open fireplace was set into the wall at one end of the room. Even though it was obviously not in use given the heatwave, Steve was sure it would be glorious during the cold Yorkshire winters. On the walls, like in Steve's room, were more paintings of the local landscape and other nearby towns. Steve found himself smiling as he examined them; they were beautiful.

Exiting the dining room, he headed back down the corridor, past reception and the staircase that led upstairs to his room, to the part of the cottage he had not yet explored at all. Here, there were old wooden doors leading to various smaller rooms. There was a kitchen, a tiny cupboard under the stairs containing cleaning and other housekeeping equipment, a peaceful little lounge with shelves filled with a wide range of books, an area marked as "Staff Only", and finally a little corridor leading out to the back of the cottage.

Steve followed this corridor, emerging onto a gorgeous little patio on a sturdy wooden deck. The patio was mostly taken up by a large round table with chairs clustered around it; a large parasol providing some shade which Steve imagined would be especially welcome at midday when the sun was at its strongest. A wooden trellis ran along the wall of the cottage, with climbing plants snaking its way up the lattice structure, their flowers blooming and making the whole patio feel full of life. Wooden wind chimes and metal garden ornaments were artfully scattered around too, giving the patio a homely, cosy, almost artisan vibe.

Beyond the patio was the garden. It was unusually shaped: long and thin, comprising of large flower beds with a snaking patch of grass winding its way like a path through the flowers, all the way down to the bottom of the garden. Tall wooden fences ran along the garden's perimeter, providing a sense of seclusion and privacy. Closest to the cottage was the same eclectic mix of wildflowers that Steve recognised from the front garden. Further down the garden, however, there appeared to be more organised flower beds. There was an area near the end that was solely dedicated to white roses, the sweet scent wafting over on the warm summer air, delicate and velvety.

Steve smiled, crossing over the patio and stepping down onto the grass, making his way down the winding path that it formed, stopping to smell and admire the flowers as he slowly made his way down the garden. The flowers were obviously well-cared for; they were strong and tall, full of vitality. They were so tall, in fact, and the curve of the winding path so sharp, that he did not see the man sat sprawled on the grass beside the white roses until he was right in front of him, almost stepping on the man's outstretched foot and having to rear back awkwardly to avoid trampling on him.

The man looked up, revealing himself to be the guest staying in room 3, whom Steve had (literally) bumped into that morning, and whom he had heard pleasuring himself through the wall the night before. Steve blushed, adding almost tripping over the man to the rapidly growing list of embarrassing encounters relating to him. The man seemed to have no such reservations, smirking as he looked up at him, a cheeky glint forming in his eye when he saw Steve's flustered expression.

"Look who it is, the running man," said the stranger.

Steve blushed, if possible, even harder.

"Fuck. Yeah. I mean, sorry about that. I should have fetched you more tea. I was already late for the conference though, I was rushing..."

Steve petered off awkwardly, realising he was rambling and that the other man almost certainly did not give a fuck about Steve's lateness to the Annual World Romantic Writers' Conference. The other man laughed, waving his hand as if physically dispersing Steve's awkward silence.

"It's cool. Don't worry about it," said the man. "I'm Bucky."

Bucky patted the grass next to him in invitation, apparently not at all put off by Steve almost walking on him and then waffling himself into an embarrassing silence. Steve lowered himself to the ground beside Bucky, the white roses now totally obscuring their view of the cottage. Here, the outside world seemed to cease to exist. It was just them, the grass, the flowers, and the endless sky slowly darkening above them.

"I'm Steve," he said, reaching out and shaking Bucky's hand.

Bucky's hand was warm and strong, and this close, Steve could smell the woody scent of cologne, along with something fruitier. It was then that he noticed that Bucky had a mug of some dark purple liquid sat beside him, along with an open bottle of red wine balanced on a little tray. Bucky noticed him looking and smiled.

"Do you want any wine?" asked Bucky. "It's good stuff."

It was a Tuesday night, so Steve almost refused, before remembering with a pleasant jolt that he was on holiday, that he had no work in the morning, and so was free to enjoy a little tipple with no fear of the consequences. Feeling liberated, he smiled and nodded.

"Sure," he said.

He watched as Bucky pulled a thermos flask from his bag, emptying out the water and pouring in a generous portion of wine instead. He passed the flask to Steve, before topping up his own mug and taking a swig. Steve lifted the flask to his lips, enjoying the aroma before taking a sip. The rich, fruity taste coated his tongue. He sighed happily, closing his eyes. Now he really felt as though he were on holiday. The wine was strong and sweet, warming Steve up from the inside.

Beside him, Bucky lay down on this back, stretching out on the grass, before looking up at Steve expectantly, waiting for him to join him. Steve smiled, slightly bemused as to why this gorgeous stranger seemed so open to making his acquaintance, but in no way complaining about it. Steve lay down beside him, the narrowness of the grass path meaning they had to lie close together, the heat of Bucky's arm warming Steve's own. He could see Bucky watching him in his peripheral vision, and turned his head, meeting the other man's eyes, noting the gorgeous shade of dark blue, the thickness of his dark eyelashes. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, before Bucky broke the silence, licking his lips before speaking.

"So, what's this conference?"

When most people asked that question, it felt like small talk. With Bucky, though, he seemed genuinely interested, giving Steve his full attention with those dreamy blue eyes as he waited for him to reply.

"It was a romantic literary conference where writers and literary agents could network with publishers," said Steve. "I work at a publishing house for LGBT romance novels. Only thing was, we thought the conference lasted two weeks, but actually it was two days and it finished today. So now I have two weeks' vacation."

Bucky grinned.

"Nice one!" he said. "I can't say I'm a fan of romance novels right now though."

Steve took another swig of wine from the flask, that warm fuzzy feeling spreading through him. He rolled onto one side so that he could look at Bucky properly. The way Bucky had said "right now" made Steve feel sure there was a story hidden there.

"How come?" prodded Steve.

Bucky sighed dramatically, throwing a hand against his forehead as if he were performing in a pantomime play.

"I'm jaded to the world," he said theatrically. "I've seen too much to believe in love."

Steve raised his eyebrows, amused, yet not quite sure what the hell he was witnessing.

"Dude," he said. "What the fuck."

Bucky gave up the act, returning to his usual New York drawl with a sigh.

"Alright, I just broke up with my douchebag ex, OK?" he said. "Alexander fucking Pierce. He was hot and rich, which sounds great on paper, right? Except this slimeball thought that money could be used in place of affection. He'd be all charming to my face, take me out, buy me gifts – but he cheated on me behind my back."

Steve winced. OK, it was understandable why Bucky might not be so keen on romance novels at present, having just come out of a relationship like that.

"That sucks," he said. "I'm sorry."

Bucky, it seemed, had not quite finished ranting.

"He cheated on me _repeatedly_ ," said Bucky, becoming visibly irate. "At _orgies_. _Repeated orgies_. Do you know how many people were at the biggest orgy? _One fucking hundred_. I found out last week."

Steve stared at him. What had started off as an unfortunate but fairly regular story was quickly turning into something horrifyingly enthralling – like a car crash in slow motion – terrible but impossible to look away from.

"What happened next?" said Steve, curious despite himself.

Here, Bucky smirked, the anger quickly leaving his features to be replaced by something much more mischievous, his face flushing with victory.

"I got my own back," said Bucky. "I used his debit card to pay for a first-class flight to the UK, and booked a room at this random B&B for a month. If that dick wants to cheat on me, he can pay for me to have a fucking vacation while I dump his slimy ass."

Steve stared at him, so amazed by what he was hearing that he could not say anything more eloquent than: "Wow..."

"So... yeah. I don't really believe in romance right now, sorry," said Bucky. "It may work in your novels, but real life is being cheated on by an orgy-obsessed dickhead and then bitterly blowing their money on a vacation for one. Romance and long-term relationships just aren't something I believe in right now."

Steve laughed, barely able to get his head around what he was hearing. It seemed that Bucky had got out of a toxic relationship, which was undoubtedly a good thing, and that he was certainly not pining for his douchebag ex, which was even better – but nonetheless, it must have been an unpleasant shock for Bucky to find out just what his ex had been getting up to behind his back. He did not say any of this out loud, however, sensing that Bucky was not really looking for sympathy or a heart-to-heart.

"Remind me never to piss you off," said Steve. "I don't have the spare cash to pay for a vacation to Australia or wherever if you decide to steal my credit card."

Bucky burst out laughing, the hint of moodiness that had been clouding his features clearing as he looked gratefully at Steve. Bucky drained his mug of wine, swallowing it in a big gulp. Steve had another drink from his flask too, finding to his surprise that he had almost finished it.

"Want some more?" asked Bucky. "We might as well finish the bottle."

Steve nodded, watching as Bucky emptied the remainder of the wine evenly between their receptacles. By now, Steve was definitely tipsy, the strong alcohol making his head feel fuzzy. Bucky was lying a little closer to him now. Steve found himself staring down the top of Bucky's t-shirt, where some wisps of chest hair were visible. He wondered what it would feel like to rub his hands there. Bucky's eyes met his, his voice a little lower and huskier when he spoke next.

"There is one great thing about being single, though," said Bucky. "I'm free to do what I want – and _who_ I want..."

Steve felt himself blushing. Was Bucky flirting with him, or was Steve simply projecting his own perverted desires onto him? To hide his confusion, he took several large gulps of wine, draining his flask, gaining some time.

"Who?" he stammered.

Bucky nodded, his eyes fixed on Steve's wine-stained lips. Damn, he should not have knocked back his wine like that. He was definitely getting drunk. 

"Yeah," said Bucky. "Who knows... I might even meet someone out here who'd be up for a vacation fling."

So, either Bucky was _definitely_ flirting, or Steve was _definitely_ a pervert. His wine-addled mind could not tell which, which left only one option: to attempt to flirt back and then try to figure out the answer based on Bucky's reaction. He just had to be smooth about it – subtle, discreet, skilful.

"Whoever you fucked would be lucky," said Steve's stupid mouth. "I mean... You're really hot."

There was a long moment of silence, during which time Steve screamed at himself internally and Bucky stared at him incredulously.

"You're not used to flirting, are you?" said Bucky, finally.

Steve shook his head mutely. He preferred relationships to flings. All his previous boyfriends had been friends first. Flirting was not something in the Steve Rogers' skill set, even when he was sober. Jesus Christ, he had fucked up big time, hadn't he?

"You're a dork," said Bucky.

There did not seem to be any venom in Bucky's statement, but before Steve could analyse it any further, he suddenly found a warm pair of lips on his own, Bucky's tongue sweeping out to chase the taste of wine off Steve's lips. Steve moaned, tilting his head to give Bucky better access, deepening the kiss. Bucky rolled them over, so that Steve's back was pressed against the cool grass, the smell of earth and roses surrounding them as Bucky's weight settled on top of him, solid and warm.

They kissed languidly, losing all sense of time as the sun set and the air cooled around them. Steve's head was fuzzy with wine and the electrifying feeling of Bucky's body pressing against his own, his lips on Steve's lips, his gorgeous face just centimetres away. Steve put his hand up to cup the back of Bucky's head, running his fingers through the dark waves, scratching gently at his scalp, drawing a little moan from Bucky's lips. Their tongues lapped against one another, slow and sensual, their breath hot and their lips wet.

Bucky's hand found itself on Steve's thigh. Steve could feel himself hardening, the soft material of his shorts doing nothing to conceal his growing boner, his cock tenting the fabric and poking Bucky in the abdomen. Bucky looked down, his mouth going slack with unmistakable lust as he stared at the outline of Steve's thick cock straining against the fabric of his shorts. Bucky bit his lip, breathing out slow and hard before looking back up to meet Steve's eyes.

"We're probably too drunk to deal with that responsibly right now," said Bucky, the regret audible in his voice.

 _I don't care_ , thought Steve, _I want you anyway_. The more responsible part of his brain, however, made him nod in agreement.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Probably."

To his disappointment, Bucky rolled off him. The coolness of the night air bathed him with a sigh. By now, the sky was a deep, dark blue, almost black. Steve wondered how long they had been making out. Between the wine and their activities, his sense of time had deserted him completely. He shivered, noticing that Bucky was hugging his arms around himself too in an attempt to keep warm.

Together, they came to the wordless decision to head back to the cottage. Steve got up unsteadily, swaying slightly due to the effects of the wine. The garden looked totally different in the dark, the vibrant colours of the flowers now just various shades of grey in the dim moonlight. He followed Bucky down the winding grass path back towards the cottage, across the wooden decking of the patio, down the narrow twisting corridor that led them back to the heart of the cottage. The staircase up to their floor was too narrow for them to walk up side by side, so Steve let Bucky go up ahead of him, affording him a great view of his ass, round but firm. Still drunk, his mouth apparently thought it was a great idea to comment on this out loud.

"You have a great ass, Bucky," he slurred.

He heard Bucky snort with laughter ahead of him, and smiled. He liked the sound of Bucky laughing.

"Thanks," said Bucky.

They reached the landing, walking the short distance to Steve's bedroom. Steve unlocked his door, before turning around to see Bucky unlocking his own.

He should say goodnight, he thought. That was the polite thing to do.

"I heard you jerking off last night," he said instead.

_Thanks, brain._

Bucky cocked his head to the side, looking thoughtful as a smirk played at his lips.

"Yeah?" he said. "Did you like it?"

Steve thought about it, the answer coming to him quickly enough.

"Yeah," he said.

Oh God, he was a pervert.

Bucky chuckled, closing the distance between them to give Steve one final, steamy kiss, his stubble rough against Steve's own, his body pressing hard against him, the definite poke of an erection pressing against Steve's thigh.

"Good to know," panted Bucky, before pulling away and heading back to his own bedroom door. "Night."

And with that, Bucky slammed his door shut, leaving Steve staring at the number 3 painted in black ornate typeface, his cock straining against his soft shorts as he stood there alone in the hallway.

Damn...

Time to go to bed – and maybe have a quick wank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHARACTER PROFILES: I have made little character profiles with pictures and key facts about all six main characters on my Tumblr! Please check them out, and feel free to give them a re-blog if you want to spread the excitement :D Here they are: [Steve Rogers](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/618385797050236928/hot-summer-nights-character-profile-for-steve), [Bucky Barnes](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/618476398227619840/hot-summer-nights-character-profile-for-bucky), [Natasha Romanoff](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/618567141530222593/hot-summer-nights-character-profile-for-natasha), [Phil Coulson](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/618657602693464065/hot-summer-nights-character-profile-for-phil), [Jemma Simmons](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/618748366312046592/hot-summer-nights-character-profile-for-jemma) and [Leo Fitz](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/618838753130233856/hot-summer-nights-character-profile-for-leo-fitz).
> 
> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/618924085019377664/hot-summer-nights-written-by-elle1991-on-ao3). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> THANK YOU: Wow, thank you all for your amazing response to chapter 1! I'm thrilled that so many of you want to know more about Steve and Bucky's hot summer holiday in Thornton-le-Dale... ;)
> 
> MARVEL CHARACTER EASTER EGGS: Peter Parker, Aunt May, Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce are all, of course, characters in the MCU. I hope you enjoyed their cameos in this chapter! I tried to retain their canon personalities in this AU.
> 
> "THE RUNNING MAN" EASTER EGG: You might have recognised this line that Bucky says to Steve when they meet in the garden: "Look who it is, the running man". It is actually a reference to the same line that Sam Wilson says to Steve in the film Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Well done if you spotted it!
> 
> THE MEANING OF WHITE ROSES: In the back garden of Buttercup Cottage, I describe "an area that was solely dedicated to white roses". White roses are the symbol of Yorkshire, which is the English county where Thornton-le-Dale is located :)
> 
> THOUGHTS: What did you think of chapter 2? Bucky was, of course, Steve's neighbour in room 3. Did you like their first encounter(s) in this chapter? Are you excited/curious/horny for more? Please let me know in the comments section below! ;)
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see Steve and Bucky explore the village of Thornton-le-Dale together, and get to know one another a little more intimately...
> 
> TUMBLR: I will be posting some pictures of the gorgeous little village of Thornton-le-Dale on [my Tumblr](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) soon, so head over there and give me a follow if you want to see that!


	3. Thornton-le-Dale

Steve woke the next morning with, surprisingly, no hangover.

He went to the bathroom and relieved himself, before stepping into the shower, letting the gloriously strong water pressure massage his muscles as he contemplated the events of the previous evening. Bucky, the newly single hunk next door, had snogged Steve's face off in a way that suggested he was at least as attracted to Steve as Steve was to him. Steve's cock chubbed up at the memory of the other man's weight on top of him, their tongues caressing, their breath mingling, the grass cool against his back.

It had been electrifying, wonderful, so totally different to Steve's normal life that it almost had a surreal, dream-like quality to it. Had he really made out with a gorgeous stranger as the sun went down, with white roses and the darkening sky their only witnesses? Had the other man's dark blue eyes really stared so deeply into his own, right before claiming his wine-stained mouth? It was unbelievable, stunning, yet Steve knew it to be true.

His mind drifted to the present moment. He wondered how Bucky felt right now, the morning after. Was he still interested in pursuing a holiday fling, as he had hinted the night before, or had the whole thing been a drunken mistake, alcohol making him foolish and reckless? Steve dearly hoped it was not the latter – or, at least, that even if Bucky did not want to have a fling, that things would not be awkward between them. He liked Bucky's personality; he was quirky, funny, and genuine. At the very least, he wanted to get to know him more as a friend; to have at least two weeks of exploring this little slice of the world together, even if that was as far as it went.

Turning off the shower, he stepped out and towelled himself dry, pulling on a fresh pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt and shorts. He was just combing his hair when there was a knock on his door. Steve put down his comb and crossed the room, unlocking and pulling open the door to reveal Bucky, looking just as gorgeous as Steve remembered from the previous night, although substantially more rumpled and sleepier. Nevertheless, Bucky's face lit up with a smile when he saw Steve, instantly banishing any fears that things might now be awkward between them.

"Hey," said Bucky, his voice still scratchy with sleep. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm good," said Steve. "You?"

Bucky pulled a face, as if someone had just woken him with a foghorn and then asked him an exceptionally hard maths question.

"Hungover," he grunted. "But traditional English breakfasts are meant to be a good cure. Wanna go eat together?"

Steve's stomach chose that moment to let out a loud growl. He grinned and nodded, grabbing his key and stepping out into the narrow corridor, locking the door behind him. As he did so, Bucky stepped up close behind him, his hand casually settling at the base of Steve's back, sending a delicious shiver up his spine. Steve leaned into the unexpected touch, arching his back a little, hyper-aware of the heat of Bucky's body so close to his own. Door closed, he slowly turned around to find Bucky staring at him, his eyes hooded and his lips slightly parted. The sexual tension that had been rampant the previous night, it seemed, had not gone away. If anything, it had only grown more intense with the passing of time.

For a long moment, they simply stared at one another, before the clattering of cutlery from downstairs broke the spell, the two of them stepping apart. They headed down the corridor and the narrow staircase, emerging on the ground floor and heading to their left towards the dining room. There, sunshine poured in through the windows, bathing the room in delicate airy light. They chose the table right next to the window, affording them a view directly out onto the beautiful front garden.

They sat down opposite one another, picking up the breakfast menus. Steve read through the options, his eyes skimming over the neatly-typed text. There were a variety of foods available, from cooked English breakfasts, to porridge, cereal, fruits, and toast. As they looked through the options, Leo entered the dining room, spotting them by the window and heading in their direction, a small notepad clutched in his hand. If he was surprised that they were sitting together, he did not show it, smiling when he reached them.

"Morning," he said. "What do you fancy for breakfast today?"

"I'll have a full English breakfast with coffee, please," said Bucky.

Steve examined his menu for a couple more moments before coming to his decision.

"I'll have a full English breakfast too, please," he said. "With tea."

Leo nodded, scribbling down their orders.

"Two full English breakfasts, one tea, one coffee. Cool!"

With a smile, Leo took their menus and left for the kitchen, sticking his notebook into his pocket. Steve relaxed in his seat, gazing out of the window at what was promising to be another scorching day. Across the table, Bucky began listing hangover cures he had heard from various friends. They ranged from the typical (full English breakfasts), to the unexpected (mint-flavoured chocolate), to the downright bizarre (baked potatoes drizzled in sugar). There, the conversation turned to gross food combinations that they nevertheless thought could work, or were at least worth a try for the subsequent bragging factor alone. By the time Leo appeared with their cooked breakfasts, both of them were in a silly mood, fighting to regain their composure as the Scotsman placed their meals in front of them.

"Voila!" said Leo. "Two full English breakfasts, cooked by me, so you could say technically they're Scottish, but hey ho."

"This looks amazing," said Bucky. "Thanks, man."

Leo gave them both a grin, before heading back out, leaving them to enjoy their breakfasts. Steve looked down at his plate, his mouth watering as the delicious aroma floated up and filled his nostrils. On his plate was a full English breakfast of sausage, bacon, beans, fried egg, mushroom, tomato, and hash browns. Leo had done an amazing job. Suddenly ravenous, Steve tucked into his meal with gusto, his enthusiasm easily being matched by Bucky across the table.

As they ate, they discussed more foods from around the world that they wished to try. Steve could feel himself being warmed from the inside, not just from the food, but by how much he enjoyed speaking with Bucky. They seemed very much on the same wavelength. The conversation flowed easily, never awkward, even in the occasional silences when they savoured their food. They got along so well, so naturally, that it did not feel as though they had met just one day before. Bucky felt as though he had been a friend for far longer, and Steve found himself incredibly thankful that he had decided to explore the cottage the night before, venturing out into the garden and meeting the other man amongst the roses.

Sometime after they finished their meals, Leo returned to fetch their plates. They showered him in compliments for the quality of the food, causing him to beam with delight as he picked up the empty plates, thoroughly scraped clean. Leo balanced the plates on his arm, his gaze flicking between the two of them.

"Got any plans for today?" said Leo.

Steve and Bucky exchanged glances. For all their conversation, they had not actually talked about how they planned to spend their day. Steve suddenly hoped he was not being presumptuous to assume that they would spend the day together. Bucky gave a shrug, shooting Steve a smile.

"I don't know," said Bucky. "I was thinking we could take it easy. Maybe just explore the village?"

Steve smiled. He could think of no one he would rather explore the quaint little village of Thornton-le-Dale with.

"Yeah," said Steve. "That sounds good."

Leo nodded, his face lighting up with boyish glee as he began spouting out suggestions.

"Take a walk along the stream," he said. "There's an old cottage with a thatched roof on the bend which is really beautiful. And the pubs – definitely check out the old pubs sometime. Oh, and if you go up to the woods on the hill, you can take in the view from Harker's Point."

He suddenly fell silent, his gaze swivelling from Steve and Bucky towards the dining room door. Steve twisted around in his seat to see that Jemma had just entered the room, carrying fresh flowers from the garden. She made her way around the tables, removing any flowers which were starting to wilt from the pots and replacing them with fresh ones. She gave the three of them a cheery smile and a "hello" when she reached their table, before exiting the room, heading in the direction of the reception booth. Leo watched her go, his gaze following her with something that looked suspiciously like longing. As soon as she disappeared from sight, Leo seemed to come back to his senses, giving his head a little shake and returning his attention to Steve and Bucky.

"It's going to be another heatwave day," he continued, as if there had been no intermission. "Remember to take water with you and stay in the shade when you can, especially around midday. Oh! I've actually designed a couple of umbrella hats, if you guys want to borrow them?"

He looked from one to the other hopefully, almost vibrating with anticipation.

Steve and Bucky exchanged bemused glances, before shaking their heads in unison. Steve loved Leo's quirky enthusiasm and apparent penchant for out-there inventions, but he was not entirely sure wearing an umbrella hat would do wonders for his dignity.

"No, thanks," said Steve politely.

Leo looked disappointed, his shoulders drooping.

"Oh, OK..." he said. "Well, if you change your mind, I'll either be in the kitchen or on reception."

With that, Leo left the room, taking their empty plates and mugs with him.

"You sure you don't want to wear an umbrella hat?" smirked Bucky, once Leo was out of earshot. "I bet you'd look a-dork-able."

Steve raised an eyebrow, smiling sweetly.

"You first," he said.

Bucky hastily changed the subject.

"How about we meet back down here in twenty minutes?" he said. "That'll be enough time to get ready."

As it was, Steve managed to get ready in just fifteen, heading downstairs before Bucky and waiting for him in the front garden, sitting on the pale green bench in front of the wildflowers. He put on his sunglasses, tilting his face up to the sun and smiling. He was – he realised – truly, blissfully happy. He had no work, no commitments, no worries. Instead, he had two long weeks to enjoy this glorious British summer; to explore the beautiful little village of Thornton-le-Dale; to get to know Bucky, this fascinating, beautiful man who inexplicably seemed to like Steve as much as Steve liked him.

As far as work conference blunders went, it was not bad at all.

* * *

Steve and Bucky wandered through the quiet streets of Thornton-le-Dale, the sun beating down on them from above, hot summer air shimmering on the tarmac.

They found the stream which Leo had mentioned at breakfast, and which Steve had noticed on his very first day, and decided to follow it, meandering along beside the water at a slow, leisurely pace. The stream was a fascinating thing, cutting through the village in a way that was utterly unique. It ran right next to the road, separating the street from the houses on that side, meaning that it had dozens of little footbridges crossing over it, allowing residents access to their homes over the water. A low white fence ran along the edge of the stream, to prevent people from stumbling in accidentally. The water gurgled gently as it flowed along, serene and peaceful in the still summer morning.

As they walked, they took in their surroundings, gazing around in silent awe at the old English cottages that seemed to dominate this part of the village. They were built from the same pale stone as Buttercup Cottage. The stone slabs were uneven, but the imperfection of the masonry only added to the old houses' rustic charm. Each little front garden was unique, with different flowers, different arrangements, different features. Ivy crept up some of the cottage walls, clinging to the stonework. They could not have been more different from the modern houses and apartment blocks Steve was used to seeing back in his neighbourhood in Boston. Thornton-le-Dale had an old, otherworldly feel to it. The village was from a different time entirely.

He commented on this out loud, and Bucky nodded in agreement, gazing at the old buildings.

"Did you know this village is around a thousand years old?" said Bucky. "It appeared in the Domesday Book in 1086."

Steve's eyes widened in surprise.

"How the hell do you know that?" he said.

"Didn't you read any of the leaflets Jemma and Leo have down in reception?" said Bucky, poking him in the ribs. "Come on, I thought _you_ were meant to be the book guy."

Steve huffed, pretending to be annoyed, although in reality he did not mind Bucky's teasing at all. If anything, he found it incredibly endearing that Bucky had apparently devoured the leaflets about the local area. He had a soft spot for nerds.

"Go on, then," said Steve. "Amaze me with more facts about Thornton-le-Dale."

He said it jokingly, but in reality, he would lap up anything Bucky said. He wanted to get to know him. Something about Bucky fascinated him. He wanted to know the other man's mind.

"It's tiny," said Bucky. "Like, it's got a population of fewer than 2,000 people kind of tiny."

Steve tucked away the little piece of information. He had known the village was small, but he had not entirely appreciated just _how_ small. Somehow, it made the place feel all the more special. There was so much beauty here, concentrated in such little space. It was incredible. They continued their way along the stream, criss-crossing over it occasionally on the mini-footbridges, just for the simple pleasure of it.

Eventually, they reached a section of the stream where it widened, bending around a corner. They crossed over it on yet another footbridge, before gasping when they saw what was hidden behind the bend. A glorious cottage with a thatched roof made of straw and other dry vegetation sat on the next bend of the stream. Flowers bloomed in the front garden, as well as creeping up the wall, surrounding the white-framed windows with flora. It looked like something plucked straight from a fairy tale, a relic from centuries ago that still managed to look pristine, magical.

They took several long minutes simply to stand and absorb the stunning beauty of the cottage. Steve took out his phone and snapped a picture; he knew Natasha would die of envy. Eventually, they began moving again, talking in hushed tones as they continued their way through the beautiful village, as if they were in some holy place, somewhere truly sacred. Eventually, they found themselves at the edge of the village and began to make their way back towards the centre, choosing streets at random, meandering along at a leisurely pace, getting lost, safe in the knowledge that the village was small enough for them not to be able to get truly disorientated.

Throughout, Steve stole little glances at Bucky, his stomach swooping in that giddy way that got his heart racing as he watched the other man; his dark hair, his blue eyes, the sweat glistening on his skin as the sun pounded down on them from above. Perhaps it was shallow of him, but Bucky was without a doubt one of the most gorgeous men he had met in a long time. He was allowed to have a little perv, every now and again, right? Heat always made him extra-horny anyway. The hot summer air was thick and heavy. Steve's t-shirt was sticking to his back.

By the time it was early afternoon, they found themselves back at the heart of the village, hunger making their stomachs rumble for food. Luckily, there were several options: about half a dozen little cafes and the two old pubs which Leo had mentioned at breakfast. After some lazy deliberations, they headed into Piano Cafe, the cool interior an instant relief. In the corner, as per the cafe's name, was an old wooden piano, splashed haphazardly with bright colours, as if someone had simply grabbed various tins of paint and flung the contents at the musical instrument.

They bought sandwiches and chose the table nearest the piano, eating and talking in such a relaxed, companionable manner that Steve could not stop a wide smile from slowly spreading across his face. It only grew larger when Bucky plonked himself down in front of the piano, attacking the keys in a way that revealed zero musical ability but a generous heaping of enthusiasm. Clashing crotchets cascaded through the air, a terrible assault upon Steve's ears, yet somehow, it was hilarious rather than annoying. That little ball of excitement in his gut only fluttered stronger as he watched the way Bucky's back arched elegantly on the piano stool, so at odds with his clumsy fingers fumbling joyfully over the keys. Steve allowed himself to savour the moment, to consciously save it in his memory, in all its silly, chaotic, spontaneous glory.

Eventually, they exited the cafe, heading out to the village green. Bucky produced a bottle of sun cream and suggested that they top up, a smirk pulling at his lips in a way that Steve did not entirely understand. It was a good idea; the sun was so hot that Steve felt sure that the sun cream he had applied before leaving Buttercup Cottage had probably melted off him by now. He nodded in agreement, his confusion growing when Bucky's smirk grew more pronounced. Bucky squirted some of the sun cream onto his hands, before looking at Steve innocently, the dark glimmer in his eyes the only thing revealing his not-so-innocent intentions.

"First, I'll do you," said Bucky, his gaze fixed intently on Steve. "Then, you can do me."

Steve almost choked at the double entendre, his eyes widening in a way that Bucky seemed to find amusing, causing him to chuckle.

"Cute," said Bucky. "Turn around."

Steve obeyed without thinking, blushing afterwards at how easily and naturally he had followed Bucky's instruction. Before he had time to analyse it any further, however, Bucky's hands were massaging the muscles at the back of his neck, rubbing in the sun cream in a way that was decidedly sensual. He rubbed it in in small circles, applying just the right amount of pressure to make Steve melt at the touch, an embarrassing moan escaping his lips before he could stop himself. Bucky tactfully ignored it, working the sun cream into his shoulders and back where the skin poked out from under his t-shirt, before moving on to his arms, his hands dragging along Steve's muscles, slow and firm.

"Yeah, do you like it right there?" Bucky murmured in his ear, his hand closing around Steve's wrist, his fingers slowly massaging in the sun cream.

His tone was low and gravelly, the question deliberately sexual. Swallowing past his embarrassment, Steve nodded, trying to reciprocate in kind and be seductive.

"Fuck yeah," he said. "Rub it."

Bucky hummed, pleased.

"Oh, I'll make sure you're _covered_ in it," he said, before adding: "Can't have you getting sunburn."

There, Steve lost it, unable to handle the ridiculousness any longer, the heightened sexual tension dissipating in an instant as he burst out laughing. After a moment, Bucky could not hold it in any longer either, joining him in letting out an undignified snort.

And sure, it was a different kind of heat, but it warmed Steve nonetheless.

* * *

That evening, after a pub dinner at The Black Lion, they headed back to Buttercup Cottage, pleasantly tired after a long day of lazily exploring the village.

As they wandered down the pavement back towards the B&B, Steve put his hands in his pockets, slightly embarrassed to be sporting a semi-hard erection. He was not sure if Bucky had been doing it deliberately, but the other man's leg had been pressed against his own under the table throughout most of dinner – something which had affected Steve much more than he would like to admit. Feeling the warmth of Bucky's skin against his own, the strong muscle of his calf, had caused his mind to drift to the night before, pressed against the grass under Bucky's body in the rose garden.

Hence, boner.

Hence, hands in his pockets in an attempt to hide it.

Thankfully, neither Bucky nor the various passers-by seemed to notice, and soon they arrived at Buttercup Cottage, heading inside and tramping down the corridor towards the stairs to their floor. They passed the reception booth, where Jemma and Leo were playing a card game, giving them a smile and a quick "hello" as they walked by. They headed up the staircase in single file – it was too narrow for them to walk up side by side – before emerging onto their floor.

There was a moment of charged hesitation, the sexual tension that had been simmering below the surface for the last 24 hours bubbling up as the reality of the situation hit them: they were outside their bedrooms; they were not drunk; they could do whatever they wanted... Steve's boner perked up with renewed interest. He moved his hands in his pockets, adjusting himself in a way he hoped was discreet. Bucky seemed to be having similar thoughts, if the intense way he was suddenly looking at Steve was anything to go by. He looked hungry, as if he wanted to devour Steve whole, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips.

"Do you want to come to my room?" said Bucky.

He said it casually, as if he were simply asking the time. Steve nodded, trying to play it equally cool, his mind definitely _not_ racing with visions of himself and Bucky rutting wildly on his squeaky bed.

"Sure," he said.

They walked past Steve's room, going to the end of the corridor where Bucky's door was painted with the ornate number three. Bucky fished his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, walking inside. Steve followed him, entering the room and looking around. It was decorated similarly to Steve's, he noted, but it was the mirror image; the en-suite bathroom on the opposite side, the bed pressed against the opposite wall. The door swung shut behind him. The click of the lock seemed unnaturally loud in the charged stillness of the room.

For a moment, neither of them moved, before they both surged together, mouths clashing into a rough kiss, hands grabbing and touching everywhere. It had been a long time since Steve had been sexual with anyone, and even longer since he had been involved in any kind of fling outside of a relationship. He had not realised how much he had missed touching another man, and being touched in return, until the night before, rolling with Bucky on the grass under the stars. Bucky grabbed him by the hips, grinding them together, causing Steve to moan as his erection rubbed up against Bucky's own hardness.

Bucky manhandled him towards the bed, pushing him back roughly when they got there, causing Steve to bounce once on the bed, the mattress squeaking loudly beneath him. Bucky crawled on after him, covering Steve's body with his, pushing him back against the pillows. Steve kissed every bit of Bucky's face that he could reach, hungry for the taste of him, the heat of him, the scratch of his beard. He thrust his hips up, desperate, chasing friction. Bucky let out a groan, his hand dipping down and palming Steve through his shorts, making Steve see stars as he let out a strangled gasp.

There was no finesse, no taking it slow, no sensual exploration of one another's bodies that Steve might ordinarily have preferred when being intimate with someone for the first time. There was simply heat, passion; a sense of urgency after what felt like a whole 24 hours of maddening lust. Bucky fumbled with the button on Steve's shorts, undoing it and yanking them down along with his underwear in one hard tug. Steve groaned, kicking off the garments whilst simultaneously trying to work the button on Bucky's shorts. He was too flustered, his fingers too clumsy to be able to work it through the hole. After a few failed attempts, Bucky took over, unbuttoning and pulling off his shorts with a grunt.

Steve stared at Bucky's cock, his mouth watering as he took in the glorious sight of it, already fully erect and leaking pre-come. Bucky's cock was beautiful: thick, dark and seven inches long. A trail of hair ran down his chest, down, down, to where it merged with a thick thatch of dark pubic hair. He wanted to bury his face there, to inhale the scent of him, to lick, to suck.

Feeling bold, he reached out and wrapped a hand around Bucky's length, giving it a squeeze and groaning when a bead of pre-come oozed from the tip. Bucky's cock was hot, heavy and velvety in his hand. Using the pre-come as lube, Steve began jerking him off, drawing a long, drawn-out groan from Bucky, the other man closing his eyes and throwing his head back as Steve pleasured him. Steve watched, enraptured, mesmerised both by the debauched expression on Bucky's face and the sight of the man's beautiful cock in his hand.

Bucky's cock was leaking pre-come like a faucet, the warm clear liquid covering Steve's hand. Steve's mouth watered as the scent of it reached him. Unable to control himself, he leaned forwards, engulfing Bucky's cock with his mouth, immediately getting to work sucking him. The slick, salty taste of cock filled his mouth, Bucky's girth stretching his mouth wide as he bobbed his head, taking as much of him as he could, addicted to the grunts and groans of pleasure his efforts were producing. Bucky reached down and wrapped a hand firmly around Steve's cock, jerking him in time with Steve's head bobbing up and down Bucky's cock.

Steve let out an embarrassing mewl around Bucky's erection, his hips bucking up off the bed into the warmth of Bucky's hand as he chased the sensation. It was an awkward position – they were contorted around one another – and so Bucky manoeuvred them so that they were sixty-nining, Steve on the bottom, Bucky crouched over him, his cock jammed in Steve's mouth as he licked a long, lewd stripe down Steve's length. Steve moaned around Bucky's cock, the vibrations obviously doing good things for Bucky if the gasp and unexpected throb of his cock were anything to go by. He tried to focus on sucking Bucky's dick, entranced by the sight of Bucky's balls hanging in his face as he did so, when Bucky really started sucking him hard.

Steve tried to concentrate on reciprocating the pleasure, he really did, but it was difficult to concentrate much on anything when one's brain was being sucked out through one's cock. Bucky's mouth was divine – all hot wet heat around him, tight and applying the most intense suction to his sensitive head. Bucky's hand was wrapped around the portion of his cock that was not in his mouth, wanking him hard and fast, his hand slick with spit and pre-come, a delicious rhythmic pressure that was causing Steve's pleasure to spiral upwards faster than he could have thought possible. Bucky's hips started to pump in fast, shallow movements, fucking Steve's mouth as he jerked and slurped at Steve's cock.

Steve could feel his orgasm approaching at breakneck speed. He tried to mumble out a warning around Bucky's cock, but what came out was more of a muffled grunt. It was all the warning he was able to give before he was spilling into Bucky's mouth, wave after wave of pleasure pumping through him, his toes curling as he spurted his load into Bucky's mouth. Part-way through, he became aware of hot salty liquid filling his own mouth as Bucky came too, some of it overflowing from his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

They came down from their orgasms slowly. Bucky rolled off him and collapsed on the bed beside him, breathing just as hard as Steve, his face flushed, his lips slick and red from his efforts. Steve knew he must look even worse, wiping away Bucky's come from his chin in an effort to look slightly less wrecked.

At some point, Bucky got up to use the bathroom.

About half an hour after that, the sun set, dipping lazily below the horizon.

Later still, as they drifted off to sleep, their hands somehow ended up entwined, and Steve fell asleep with his mouth curved into a gentle smile, Bucky's hand warm and soft within his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/619577249883111424/hot-summer-nights-written-by-elle1991-on-ao3). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3
> 
> THORNTON-LE-DALE PHOTOS: The description of Thornton-le-Dale in this chapter is all true. The stream, the thatched cottage, the little footbridges going over the stream to let people get to their houses - all of it is real. I've posted [these pictures of Thornton-le-Dale](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/619015476508491776/hot-summer-nights-locations-thornton-le-dalethe) on my Tumblr, if you want to see it for yourself! In fact, the only things in this chapter that are fictional are the names of the businesses (i.e. Buttercup Cottage, The Black Lion, Piano Cafe).
> 
> BUTTERCUP COTTAGE FLOOR PLAN: If you need help visualising the layout of Buttercup Cottage, I've created [these floor plans](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/619109276328263680/hello-lovely-readers-of-hot-summer-nights-ive) which show where all the rooms are.
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you so much to everyone who left comments and kudos on the last chapter! I'm sooo happy you're enjoying this story and reading all your amazing feedback really keeps me motivated to write more! :D
> 
> THOUGHTS: I devour all your comments like Bucky devours Steve's cock (i.e. eagerly and with gusto), so please let me know your thoughts on this chapter in the comments section below! Don't be shy ;)
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see Steve and Bucky spending more time together, and we'll also get to know Jemma and Leo a bit better too. 
> 
> TUMBLR: I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr and love interacting with readers, so feel free to give me a follow/drop me a message on there if you're feeling friendly <3


	4. Folk Songs By Fairy Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> British English = fairy lights  
> American English = Christmas lights, twinkle lights, holiday lights, mini lights...

Steve woke slowly the next morning.

He snuggled into the soft pillow, not quite ready to open his eyes just yet, taking a moment to simply savour the sound of bird song coming from outside the window, along with the gentle sound of snoring from somewhere behind him.

_Wait... What?_

Steve's eyes snapped open, returning to consciousness abruptly, finding himself not in his room, but in one that was the mirror image. He rolled over to find Bucky sleeping beside him, gorgeous and naked, as memories from the night before came flooding back: passionate kisses, Bucky flinging Steve back onto the bed, and then hands and mouths everywhere, culminating in both of them filling the other's mouth with hot, salty come simultaneously. The memory did nothing to quell Steve's morning wood, his erection only growing stronger and more urgent as he remembered the debauched groan Bucky had let out as he pumped his load into Steve's mouth.

Steve reached down, taking his aching cock in his hand. The movement must have jostled the mattress, because at that moment Bucky's eyes opened blearily, his gaze sweeping over Steve holding his rock-hard cock, before his face broke out into a satisfied smirk. Bucky closed the distance between them, rolling on top of Steve so that their bodies were pressed flush against one another, pressing a lazy kiss against Steve's lips. Steve returned the kiss eagerly, closing his eyes and rutting up to rub his erection against Bucky's abdomen.

"Someone's hard this morning," murmured Bucky. "Eager for round two already?"

Bucky's hand trailed down to Steve's hip, his fingers running lightly across his skin, so close to his cock yet steadfastly refusing to touch him there. Steve let out a noise that was half-whine, half-groan, causing Bucky to chuckle slightly at his growing desperation. With a smirk, Bucky mouthed along Steve's jawbone, before sucking kisses at the sensitive skin of his neck. Steve tilted his head back, giving him greater access, his breath coming out in embarrassing little gasps as Bucky's talented mouth nipped and sucked at his throat.

Despite Bucky's cool front, Steve could tell that he was just as affected as Steve by their making out, the other man's cock hot and hard against Steve's skin. Surreptitiously, Steve reached down, before grasping Bucky's cock and squeezing it gently, finally drawing a moan from Bucky's lips. Pre-come was leaking from Bucky's cock head, and Steve used it as lubrication as he lined Bucky's cock up with his own, taking them both in his hand and jerking them off together. Both of them groaned at the sensation, the delicious friction getting them hot and hungry for more.

Steve wondered if Bucky preferred to top or bottom. Steve enjoyed it both ways, although if he were being totally honest, if he had the choice, he would always choose the thrill of taking a cock up his ass. Above him, Bucky was biting his lower lip, his flushed face screwed up with silent ecstasy as Steve jerked their cocks together, concentrating his efforts on the tip, where the pleasure was greatest. He added a twist to his wrist, causing Bucky to let out a guttural groan, surging forward and claiming his mouth with a bruising kiss.

Steve closed his eyes, losing himself in the taste of Bucky's tongue, the feel of Bucky's stubble rubbing against his own, Bucky's breath hot and mingling with Steve's. Finally, if only for the need to breathe, they surfaced from the kiss, Bucky's eyes dark and his lips red and slick as he gazed down at Steve below him. Steve stared up at him, taking in the gorgeous sight of him. Fuck. Bucky looked wrecked. Steve _needed_ him, suddenly taken by the desperate urge to know his body fully, totally, intimately.

"I have condoms and lube," said Bucky. "If you wanna–"

Steve did not even let him finish his question.

"Yes," he said breathlessly. "Fuck, yes. Please, fuck me."

Bucky's face flushed with pleasure. He rolled off Steve, reaching over and pulling open the drawer of his bedside table. He rummaged around for several moments, before pulling out a bottle of lube and an unopened box of condoms. Bucky scooted back next to Steve, before leaning forwards and cupping his face, giving him a surprisingly tender kiss.

"Tell me if anything hurts, yeah?" said Bucky.

Steve nodded, his eyes wide as he watched Bucky click open the bottle of lube, squirting some out onto his fingers and coating them liberally. Bucky nudged his legs apart, reaching down and pumping Steve's cock several times with one hand whilst the other, slick with lube, dipped lower, circling around Steve's puckered hole. Steve's breath hitched at the first touch of the cool lube on the sensitive skin of his rim. Bucky was not penetrating him yet, just running his fingers around his hole, getting it slick, letting him get used to the feeling of being touched there.

Bucky's eyes met his, and slowly, with their gazes locked, Bucky began to push one finger into him. Steve hissed slightly at the burn as Bucky's finger breached his sphincter and sank into him. The stretch was simultaneously too much and too little. Steve canted his hips upwards to give Bucky more access as he gently pushed his finger in and out, going a little deeper each time, stretching Steve slowly and methodically. As he began to get used to the sensation, Steve felt himself relaxing, the probing of Bucky's finger going from uncomfortable, to comfortable, to something altogether more delicious when Bucky curled his finger in a come-hither motion, brushing against Steve's prostate.

Steve moaned as the pressure on his prostate caused a wave of pleasure to wash over him. Bucky was growing bolder now that he could see Steve was enjoying it, pumping his finger in and out, harder and deeper, deliberately rubbing against Steve's prostate whenever possible, until Steve was a writhing, whimpering mess, begging him for more.

Bucky obliged with a wicked grin, slowly adding a second finger to join the first, drinking in the sight of Steve gasping as he fought to accommodate the second finger. The stretch was more intense now, that feeling of fullness more visceral. He whimpered as Bucky began to thrust both fingers in and out of him, coating his walls with lube, prepping him with efficiency and what seemed to be a growing sense of desperation.

Looking down, he could see Bucky's cock was still fully erect, despite being untouched. The realisation caused Steve to shiver with excitement. It was unbelievably sexy, to know that the mere thought of fucking Steve was keeping Bucky at full hardness. He rocked his hips a little, fucking himself on Bucky's fingers, looking into Bucky's eyes as he did so, biting his lip, teasing him a little. Bucky's breath visibly hitched, his fingers in Steve's ass faltering as Steve wiggled his hips, looking up at him through his eyelashes. OK, so he liked to be a cock-tease sometimes, so what?

With a growl, Bucky pulled his fingers out of Steve's ass. Steve whined at the loss, feeling empty, his hole clenching around nothing. Without a word, Bucky ripped open the box of condoms, retrieving one and tearing open the packet. With one smooth motion, he pulled the condom over his cock, rolling it down to the base. Grabbing the lube, he squirted some more onto his fingers, before rubbing it over his cock, making sure he was slick.

Bucky settled between Steve's legs, leaning down to press a kiss against his lips, before leaning back a little, lining himself up with Steve's hole, the blunt head of his cock nudging at his entrance. Bucky's eyes met Steve's, searching them for confirmation. Steve nodded. He wanted Bucky. No, he _needed_ Bucky. His ass was aching for him, desperate to be filled. Steve grabbed his ass cheeks and held them open, begging with his eyes.

"Please..." he said.

It was all the confirmation Bucky needed. Slowly, he pushed in, the pressure firm and even, until he suddenly popped past Steve's sphincter, sinking in and stretching him, his cock hard and hot as he sank in, right to the hilt. He stayed still for a while, both of them sweating and breathing heavily as they got used to the new sensation. Steve felt unbelievably full. Bucky's cock was thick and seven inches long, filling him totally, his rim stretched tight around the girth. He forced his muscles to relax, focusing on Bucky's eyes, losing himself in the gorgeous dark blue.

Slowly, Bucky pulled back, before thrusting back in, going gently at first, pressing kisses against Steve's neck, letting him get used to the sensation of being fucked. Steve moaned. The sensation of Bucky's thick, heavy cock dragging in and out of him was absolutely incredible. He lifted his legs up, wrapping them around Bucky's waist, pulling him closer. The angle caused Bucky's cock to rub against his prostate, a pulse of pleasure throbbing through him, making him gasp, his cock jerking against his abdomen. Bucky noticed the movement, reaching down and wrapping a hand around Steve's cock, before jerking him off in time with his thrusts.

Steve gasped, a high-pitched whine escaping his lips as Bucky began thrusting harder and faster, his cock ramming against Steve's prostate with each inward stroke, his hand matching his pace perfectly, stroking Steve's cock. The double sensation of pleasure was driving him crazy. Inside him, his sensitive prostate was being battered by Bucky's big cock; outside, Bucky's hand on his dick was getting him off like a dream. He could feel that coil of pleasure getting tighter and tighter inside him. He could feel himself getting hotter, the little zips of pleasure whenever Bucky thrust against his prostate getting stronger and more urgent. He was moaning like a slut with each hard thrust, but he could not bring himself to care, his pleasure spiralling higher as Bucky's thrusts grew harder and more erratic.

He could feel his orgasm approaching. He slammed his hips back to meet Bucky's thrusts, the bed squeaking wildly as they rutted against each other, needy and desperate. Steve's orgasm hit hard, his eyes rolling back in his head and his toes curling as he shot his load over his chest, his ass spasming around Bucky, each rhythmic contraction causing another pulse of pleasure to shudder through him. The tightening of his ass triggered Bucky's own orgasm, the other man ramming deep inside Steve and then burying it there, his hips stilling as he spilled into the condom, his cock throbbing deep in Steve's ass.

They came down from their high slowly – hot and sweaty and breathing hard – until Bucky finally softened, his cock slipping from Steve's ass with a faint pop. He removed the condom, tying it off and throwing it in the bin, before collapsing in bed beside Steve, a wide satisfied grin on his face.

"Wow..." said Bucky. "That wasn't a bad way to wake up."

Steve glanced over at him, a smile curving his lips, his mind fuzzy with the euphoria of post-orgasmic bliss.

"Just not bad?" he said. "I'll have to try harder next time."

Bucky laughed, the sound light and carefree.

"Deal," he said.

* * *

They spent most of the morning lazing around in Bucky's bed, breaking off only so that they could grab some breakfast, and so that they could both shower a little after that.

By midday, though, they both reluctantly came to the conclusion that however tempting it might be to simply spend all day in bed together, they should probably make the most of the fact they were on holiday in a foreign country and actually go outside.

Steve went back to his room to change into a fresh set of clothes, before applying sun cream liberally. He was fair, and the weather outside was another scorching day. Without sun cream, he would undoubtedly burn. He filled up his water bottle, stuck it in his rucksack and slung it over his back, before putting on his sunglasses. Summer-ready, he exited his room, locking the door behind him and meeting Bucky in the narrow corridor. They headed downstairs, smiling at Jemma who was on reception as they passed, before emerging out into the glorious sunshine.

They wandered aimlessly down the quiet streets for a while, the strength of the sun immediately letting itself be known, the very air around them hot and cloying. Eventually, they found themselves heading towards the outskirts of the village, curious to see more of the surrounding countryside. It was then that Steve recalled a conversation from the day before, at breakfast time, when Leo had mentioned a nearby wood.

"Hey, shall we try finding that woodland Leo talked about yesterday?"

"God yes!" panted Bucky. "I need shade."

Steve glanced over at him, noting that Bucky was already sweating profusely after only quarter of an hour outside. Steve hid a smile, trying and failing not to think of the last time he had seen Bucky so hot and sweaty... They walked down the quiet country road, glancing at the quaint houses as they passed, until finally they left the village behind, finding themselves heading out towards fields and hedgerows.

There, they took a moment to pause. Bucky took a swig from his water bottle, as Steve watched a blackbird ruffling its feathers on a nearby hedge. After a moment, Bucky pointed to their left, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight. Steve looked to where he was pointing, up a sloping field, to see a wood at the top of the hill. The trees were tall and majestic, their branches green with leaves that were barely moving due to the lack of breeze. Steve gazed at them, transfixed by their aloof beauty. He wondered how old the trees were. Given their size, Steve guessed several hundred years old.

There was a trodden-down path running along the side of the field that led up to the wood, so they trudged across the verge to join it, the dry grass rustling underfoot. They had to cross over a wooden stile to enter the field, and Steve took a moment to appreciate the curve of Bucky's ass as the other man climbed over the wooden structure. A few seconds later, he joined him, and they stood together in the corner of the field, the ground hard and cracked under their feet from lack of rain.

From this angle, there was no shade from the sun, and as they began to walk up the edge of the field, Steve could feel himself beginning to sweat with the heat of the sun overhead. The incline of the field was more taxing than they had imagined, especially in the heat. They walked slowly, their faces red and their breaths coming out in audible puffs as they trudged their way up the path. They remained silent as they walked. Talking felt like too much energy, and they needed to save their breath for walking. Steve wiped his forehead, his hand coming away glistening. He swung his bag off his shoulder, grabbed his water bottle and took a long drink, the cool liquid soothing his throat.

After what felt like an age, they reached the top of the hill. They were greeted by the glorious sight of shade beneath the trees. As they stepped into the wood, Steve let out a long sigh, basking in the luxurious coolness. The drop in temperature was palpable and wonderful. Bucky immediately flopped down onto the ground, leaning against a tree, his legs splayed out in front of him. After a moment, Steve joined him, enjoying the coolness of the woodland floor beneath him, his feet welcome for the rest after the unexpectedly gruelling climb. For a while, they simply rested, enjoying the break, the coolness, the serenity of their surroundings. Up here, they could not hear any sounds from the village. It was as if they were in their own little bubble, an oasis of calm on the top of that sprawling hill.

After a while, Steve grew restless. Now that he had cooled down from the boiling heat, he was once again taken by the urge to explore, to wander. There was a wide, well-defined, meandering path that obviously went through the wood, but Steve also spotted a smaller trail that ran along the edge of the trees, going towards their right. He got to his feet, stretching and popping his back as he did so, announcing his intention to follow the smaller path. Bucky looked over and shrugged, waving for Steve to go ahead and explore without him, seemingly content to spend a little longer resting.

Steve headed off along the trail, following its path along the woodland edge. Twigs and dry grass crackled underfoot, the sound of crickets chirping the only other noise breaking the warm stillness of the air. The trail bent around the curve of the hill, before suddenly widening out. This part of the hill jutted out above the rest, forming a naturally raised platform that afforded a stunning view overlooking the valley below. Steve gasped, coming to a halt at this unexpected viewing point.

From here, he could see Thornton-le-Dale sat snugly at the bottom of the valley, the terracotta roof tiles and pale stone walls of the houses mishmashed amongst the greenery of the landscape. The road that they had followed was visible from this vantage point too, a thin ribbon of tarmac undulating through the scenery. Steve stepped out onto the natural plateau, being careful not to get too close to the edge, lost for words as he took in the magnificent beauty before him. From here, the fields that covered the rolling hills were like squares on a blanket; the hedgerows that ran along their edge the thread holding them together.

After a while, he became aware of footsteps behind him. Bucky rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt by Steve's side, letting out an audible gasp when he was confronted with the sudden beauty of the viewing point. Steve gestured out at the view, unable to put into words just how stunning it was. He was still reeling from it himself, trying to put his finger on exactly what made it so mesmerising. Perhaps the most interesting part of the scene's charm was that it was not particularly grand in scale. There was no dramatic waterfall or towering geological formation. The beauty was in its perfect simplicity. Just a simple little village, surrounded by simple square fields, on simple green hills. The gems were in the detail: the sunbeaten orange of the roofs, the shifting gradient of the landscape, the little glimpses of the stream that ran beside the main street.

"Wow," said Bucky softly. "Just... wow."

Steve nodded, unable to add anything more eloquent. It was a little later that he spotted, at the very centre of the plateau, the old stump of a dead tree. He approached it slowly, putting his hand out and running it over the old wood. The tree, before it was cut down, must have been enormous. The stump was about a metre in diameter, solid and sturdy. It must have been felled a long time ago, as the top of the stump was smooth and weathered, rather than freshly cut. In the grain of the wood was carved two words.

_Harker's Point_

The words stirred something in Steve's memory, and then he remembered: Leo had mentioned it when he had suggested things to do in Thornton-le-Dale the day before: _if you go up to the woods on the hill, you can take in the view from Harker's Point_. Steve wondered about the history of the name. Who was Harker? Why was this point named after them? He ran his fingers along the words, tracing the letters with his fingers, wondering how many hundreds of people had done the exact same, over the years.

"Harker's Point," said Bucky, joining him and looking down at the words. "I wonder what it means."

"I don't know," said Steve.

Wordlessly, Bucky slipped his hand into Steve's, pressing a kiss almost absentmindedly to his cheek as he gazed out at the view. They stayed there for a long while, admiring the view, until eventually the passage of time urged them to move once more, lest their joints get stiff from lack of movement. Bucky withdrew his hand from Steve's, and Steve found himself unexpectedly missing the other man's touch. He did not mention it.

They explored the rest of the wood, spent a while quietly watching a group of rabbits at a distance, and eventually headed back towards the village. By now, the sun was starting its slow descent towards the horizon, and the two of them were fooling around, feeling in a jovial mood after an enjoyable afternoon of exploring. Presently, they were walking along by the stream – or perhaps it would be fairer to say that Steve was walking, his sides aching from laughing, as Bucky danced his way along the street, attempting to demonstrate some kind of New York disco that Steve had definitely not seen in Boston.

Bucky was attempting to moonwalk sideways – a move that was as impossible as it sounds, or at least Bucky was unable to pull it off – when Steve realised, a split second too late, that Bucky had strayed far too close to the edge of the stream. His eyes widened in horror, his mouth opening with a shout of warning that was already too late, as Bucky toppled sideways into the stream, his face forming an expression of almost comical surprise before crashing into the water.

He emerged from below the waves immediately, standing up to his knees in frigid clear water, sopping wet, his brown hair sticking flat against his head. His expression was a mixture of shock and indignation, as if the stream had launched some kind of personal attack against him. There, Steve lost it, bending over at the waist as he roared with laughter as he watched Bucky glare at the water. At Steve's reaction, Bucky's scowl only grew further, his lower lip sticking out in a pout as he scrambled out of the stream back onto dry land. Steve helped haul him back up, little snorts of laughter still escaping him, even as he ran an appreciative eye over the way the water made Bucky's clothes stick to him like a second skin.

"That never happened, OK?" said Bucky firmly. "You saw nothing."

Steve snorted.

For an event that he supposedly never saw, he certainly would not be forgetting it any time soon.

* * *

They arrived back at Buttercup Cottage.

They trudged along the corridor, turning the corner to see both Leo and Jemma in the reception booth. Their expressions instantly turned to one of confusion as they stared at the new arrivals – or more specifically, at Bucky, who was still sopping wet and smelling of stream water.

"What happened to you?" said Leo, at the exact same moment as Jemma said: "Oh my gosh, are you OK?!"

Bucky squirmed under the scrutiny.

"I'm fine," he said reluctantly. "I just fell into the stream."

Jemma immediately exited the reception booth, hurrying away towards the supply cupboard, as Leo continued staring at Bucky, his eyes boggling and his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"But _how_?" said Leo. "The stream's, you know, really obvious."

Bucky pouted, unwilling to reveal the embarrassing circumstances of his accident.

"Bucky was dancing," said Steve, unable to hold back any longer.

"Steve!" whined Bucky.

"Sorry, _attempting_ to dance," smiled Steve. "It... went wrong."

Leo watched the two of them, his head swivelling from one to the other as they spoke, a wide grin spreading over his face.

"That's amazing," he said.

At that moment, Jemma returned, clutching several fresh bath towels and pushing them into Bucky's hands. She gave him a sympathetic rub on the back, glaring at Leo when he let out a small giggle.

"Poor you!" said Jemma. "Why don't you get cleaned up and join us for dinner? You too, Steve! I was just about to start cooking for Leo and I."

Steve's stomach chose that moment to let out a loud growl. He suddenly realised that he had not had any lunch, and found himself nodding enthusiastically. Food sounded perfect, and he wanted to get to know Jemma and Leo better too. They had a wonderful dorky energy that Steve could not help but find charming.

"That would be awesome, if you're sure," he said. "It'd be an honour."

Jemma beamed at them, already heading towards the kitchen.

"Great!" she said. "Meet in the back garden in twenty minutes? Is that enough time for you, Bucky? Fitz, get the patio ready!"

Everyone scattered in different directions – Jemma getting started with the cooking, Leo heading out to get the patio sorted, and Bucky heading upstairs for a quick shower and a clothes change. Steve headed upstairs too, dumping his bag in his room and using the toilet, before heading downstairs to help Leo set the table. Twenty minutes passed quickly, and before they knew it, the four of them were gathering on the patio, the boys taking their seats around the circular table as Jemma came out with the food. The delicious smell of spaghetti bolognese floated up as Jemma placed the plates in front of them, making Steve's mouth water. She headed inside briefly, before emerging again with a bowl of salad, placing it in the middle of the table for them to share.

"Dig in!" said Jemma. "Leo, I thought we were having fairy lights?"

Leo started, obviously having forgotten. He twisted around in his seat, fiddling with something on the ground. Suddenly, fairy lights illuminated the patio, causing Steve and Bucky to both gasp at the beautiful sight. A long string of little lights was draped along the wall of the cottage, framing the patio perfectly and illuminating them with delicate light. It gave the patio an incredibly cosy ambience: homely, safe and intimate. The warm, soft quality of the light made Steve think of candles. With the sun setting, the fairy lights allowed them to see one another and the food much better, bathing them in a subdued, warm glow.

With a smile, Leo produced a bottle of red wine that Steve had not noticed before and poured out the wine equally between their glasses. They lifted their glasses to toast the meal, grinning as they brought their drinks together.

"Cheers!"

Steve began on his spaghetti bolognese, moaning appreciatively at the rich taste. The sauce and the minced beef seemed to melt on his tongue, coating his whole mouth with flavour. If Leo was the king of breakfast, Jemma was the queen of dinner. He gave her a thumbs up across the table, watching as her face lit up with joy at the obvious enjoyment with which they were all consuming her meal.

"This is amazing," said Steve.

"Double amazing!" said Leo.

"Triple amazing," said Bucky. "Thank you so much."

Jemma grinned shyly, her brown eyes twinkling.

"Did you guys have a good day?" she said, shifting her attention to Steve and Bucky. "Apart from falling into the stream, I mean."

They nodded.

"We went for a walk up to that wood on the hill," said Bucky. "It was gorgeous."

"We found a plateau called Harker's Point," said Steve. "We were kind of wondering if you knew anything about it?"

At this, both Jemma and Leo's faces lit up with excitement. It was obviously a place that they too adored, and were pleased that Steve and Bucky had discovered.

"It's beautiful up there, isn't it?" said Jemma. "I like to go up there sometimes on my days off when I want a break from my PhD studies."

"Do you know why it's called Harker's Point?" said Steve.

"There's this local legend about it, although I don't know how much of it is true," said Leo.

By this point, they were all finishing their meals, scraping their plates clean so as to get the very last mouthful of flavour. All heads turned towards Leo, sensing that it was story time. Steve took a sip of wine, watching Leo as he exchanged smiles with Jemma.

"The story goes that about three hundred years ago, there was a local woman called Angela who was accused of being a witch," said Leo. "The rest of the villagers thought that she was behind these weird lights in the sky. Nowadays, we know it was just the northern lights, but back then they thought it was demons or witchcraft or some bullshit. Anyway, they thought Angela was behind it, and they wanted to tie her up and throw her in the stream, to see if she'd drown or float. But the night before that was going to happen, her grandfather Mr. Harker managed to break Angela free from where she was being held in the village, and helped her escape up through the wood to safety.

"Only thing was, breaking her out caused a lot of noise, and a gang of villagers followed them up to the woods. Mr. Harker intercepted them at the plateau, and managed to hold them off long enough to let Angela escape. When they realised she was gone, the villagers turned on old Mr. Harker and beat him to death, right there on the plateau.

"The next night, a huge storm struck the village and lightning hit the tree on the plateau. It burned all night long and the villagers claimed they could see the crying face of old Mr. Harker in the flames. They cut the tree down the next morning, so that it wouldn't fall down and crush anyone walking under it – that's the stump you can see today. For the next year, none of the crops grew, none of the flowers bloomed, none of the families in the village could conceive. Nothing grew – except on the plateau, where wildflowers bloomed all around the old tree stump.

"Eventually, the villagers held a ceremony for Mr. Harker. They apologised for killing him, and for thinking Angela was a witch. They named the plateau where he died Harker's Point, in honour of him. After that, the crops grew again, babies were born again, and the flowers came back to life in the village. The legend goes that anyone who needs guidance or help can find it up there; that old Mr. Harker will help you, just like he helped Angela all those years ago."

He lapsed into silence as he came to the end of the story. Steve found himself spellbound, immediately falling in love with the local legend. He wondered how much of it was true and how much of it was storytelling. Either way, he adored it. He wondered how many people, in the years since, had gone up to Harker's Point in times of need, seeking guidance and counsel from the spirit of the kind Mr. Harker.

"That's beautiful," he said.

By now, the sun had fully set. The smell of roses wafted over on the cool night air. Jemma wrapped her arms a little tighter around herself, shivering slightly. Leo noticed the action and immediately took off his blazer, offering it to her timidly. She took it with an expression of grateful surprise, pulling it around herself, instantly looking warmer and more comfortable. Leo smiled softly when he saw Jemma looking more at ease, his eyes appearing glazed in the soft glow of the fairy lights as he stared at her. Steve and Bucky swapped surreptitious glances as they watched the exchange, sipping their wine with small smiles. Leo was so obviously in love with Jemma that he might as well have it tattooed on his forehead.

"So, tell us about yourselves," said Steve. "You mentioned you're doing a PhD, Jemma?"

The sleeves of Leo's blazer were a little long for Jemma, so she pushed them up to her elbows, nodding as she ran her finger along the rim of her wine glass.

"Oh, yes, Leo and I are both doing our PhDs at Durham University," she said. "I specialise in Biochemistry. I'm researching whether it's possible to use chemicals to alter someone's DNA to prevent or cure certain diseases!"

"And I'm doing Engineering," said Leo. "I'm trying to create reflective panels that can make objects invisible!"

"We only work at Buttercup Cottage in the summer," said Jemma. "It gives us a bit of money and a place to live during the long summer holiday."

Steve smiled at the effortless way they carried the conversation between them. They were obviously very much on the same wavelength – both in terms of intellect and personality. They had a shared gentleness to them, a soft outer shell from which their brilliant minds shone through. Steve did not doubt that Jemma was smart enough to find a way to use genetic biochemistry to protect people from disease, or that Leo was creative enough to invent the technology to render objects invisible. They would do it. They had the brains. All they needed was time.

And then, there were the small glances that they shot one another when the other was not looking. They were clearly in love, even if neither had yet had the courage to declare it to the other. They were adorable. Steve smiled, hiding it by taking another sip of wine.

"Hey, you should go on a day trip to Durham sometime!" said Leo. "That's where we're studying. It's not too far away. And it's a gorgeous place."

"Ooh, yes!" said Jemma enthusiastically. "There's an Oriental museum. And a castle! And they filmed part of Harry Potter in the cathedral!"

At this, Bucky let out a small squawk of excitement.

"Oh, fuck yes!" he said. "Harry Potter is so _cool_!"

Steve laughed with delight, overjoyed with Bucky's raw enthusiasm. Steve always had a soft spot for nerds. From there, the conversation devolved into various books and films that they loved, and then, when Leo mentioned that he enjoyed cosplaying fantasy characters, into what their ultimate cosplay would be. Steve found himself relaxing totally, filled with joy as he looked around the table at these three remarkable people who he had not known even a week ago. The ambience was relaxed and warm. It felt like home. Under the table, Bucky stretched out a leg, leaning it against Steve's. Steve pressed back, smiling at him as he reclined in his chair, content to take in the scene in front of him.

Sensing the shift towards a more relaxed vibe, Leo disappeared back into the cottage briefly, before returning with an old acoustic guitar. Jemma's face lit up with happiness. She snuggled deeper inside Leo's borrowed blazer, curling her legs underneath herself as she swivelled in her chair to face him.

"Oh yes, please, play us something!" she said.

By now, they had all finished their wine, a little tipsy, not quite drunk, but in that warm fuzzy headspace that took away one's shyness.

For a while, Leo just jammed, making up melodies as the others listened. In the grass, a cricket was chirping. Further away, an owl hooted. Steve smiled, utterly content, as he listened to Leo make up tunes on his guitar, the soft warm light from the fairy lights making the Scotsman's dark blonde hair glow golden.

After a while, though, he stopped, glancing over at Jemma softly.

"Did you say Auld Lang Syne is your favourite?" he asked.

Jemma nodded, gazing at Leo as he began to strum the chords more purposefully, not jamming this time, but lovingly playing Jemma's favourite song, which Steve recognised as the old Scottish folk song, Auld Lang Syne. Leo began to sing the words as he played, his voice gentler and more tuneful than Steve would have imagined, a soft tenor.

_"Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
And never brought to mind?  
Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
And days of auld lang syne?_

_For auld lang syne, my dear  
For auld lang syne  
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet  
For days of auld lang syne_

_We twa hae run about the braes  
And pu'd the gowans fine  
But we've wander'd mony a weary fit  
Sin days of auld lang syne_

_We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn  
Frae morning sun till dine  
But seas between us braid hae roar'd  
Sin days of auld lang syne_

_For auld lang syne, my dear  
For auld lang syne  
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet  
For days of auld lang syne_

_And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp  
And surely I'll be mine  
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet  
For auld lang syne_

_And there's a hand, my trusty fiere  
And gie's a hand o' thine  
And we'll tak a right gude-willy waught  
For auld lang syne_

_For auld lang syne, my dear  
For auld lang syne  
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet  
For auld lang syne_

_For auld lang syne, my dear  
For auld lang syne  
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet  
For auld lang syne."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/620189046853992448/hot-summer-nights-written-by-elle1991-on-ao3). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> FITZSIMMONS: If you are a fan of Fitzsimmons (the characters and/or ship), I hope you enjoyed getting to know them more this chapter! :)
> 
> AGENTS OF SHIELD EASTER EGGS: Fans of Agents of SHIELD may have noticed that Jemma and Leo's PhD studies had some relevance to the show. Leo's reflective panels that make objects invisible are a reference to the technology that cloaks the Quinjets, and Jemma's chemical DNA altering is a nod to terrigenesis. Well done if you spotted these Easter eggs! :D
> 
> AULD LANG SYNE: Auld Lang Syne is an old Scottish poem and folk song. The title translates as "for old times' sake". You can listen to it, and follow along with the lyrics and English translation, in [this lovely YouTube video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPnhaGWBnys). Since Leo is Scottish, I thought it might be fitting to have him sing this beautiful traditional Scottish folk song <3
> 
> HARKER'S POINT: Harker's Point does not exist in real life, nor does the legend of Mr. Harker, and I also made the landscape around Thornton-le-Dale a bit more hilly than it is in real life. It may be a significant location later on in this story, though, so do remember it... ;)
> 
> DURHAM UNIVERSITY: Durham University is a real university in the north east of England. Durham is a gorgeous little city and the university is very highly regarded academically (almost on par with Oxford and Cambridge), so I can definitely see two soft geniuses like Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz doing their PhDs there!
> 
> THANK YOU: As always, thank you to those darlings who left such lovely comments on the last chapter! I read and reply to every single comment, and appreciate your support so much <3
> 
> THOUGHTS: What a day the boys had! Starting off "hard" and then ending in the softest and fluffiest way possible <3 I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I am a slut for comments and kudos, so if you're enjoying this story, please squeal with me in the comments below!
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see Steve and Bucky taking Jemma and Leo's advice, and going on a day trip to Durham! 
> 
> TUMBLR: I will be posting photos of Durham on my Tumblr at [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) sometime this week, so if you want a sneak preview of Durham for next week's chapter, give me a follow over there!


	5. Durham

The next day, they decided to take Jemma and Leo's advice and go on a day trip to their university town of Durham.

Jemma checked the bus and train times, writing them down on a piece of paper and generally fussing over Steve and Bucky as they prepared to leave, making sure they had water and sun cream. Again, Leo tried to convince them to borrow his umbrella hats, and it was only after three polite refusals that he gave up, giving them an impish grin and a shrug that said "you can't blame a guy for trying". Steve smiled, slightly bemused but appreciative nonetheless of Leo and Jemma's caring nature.

Their journey was formed of two parts: a bus ride from Thornton-le-Dale to York, and then the train from York to Durham. The total journey would take two hours – although Leo and Jemma both assured them it was worth it – and so they took along one of Leo's puzzle books to pass the time, full of crosswords and sudokus.

The first part of the journey was swelteringly hot. The bus was jam-packed with day-trippers, the glorious sunshine shining in through the large windows and heating it like an oven. It was just as uncomfortable as the bus journey when Steve had first arrived in the UK, but for one saving grace: this time, he had Bucky. They watched the scenery together as they whizzed through the countryside, chatting and joking, and the journey seemed to pass quickly, both of them quite surprised when they reached York, squeezing their way off the bus and stepping out onto the busy pavement. Bucky wiped the sweat from his forehead, visibly relieved to be off the boiling bus. Steve bit his lip, trying not to think too hard about how much he liked to see Bucky all hot and sweaty.

The train to Durham arrived right on time. They clambered aboard and chose two seats at a table, squeezing in opposite one another, their knees touching in the middle. They gazed out of the window as the train pulled away from York, watching as the city gave way to houses, which in turn gave way to fields and farmland. After a while, they grew restless. They were full of pent-up excitement to explore the little town of Durham, and the minutes seemed to drag as the train slowly trundled its way up north. Steve remembered the puzzle book that Leo had lent him and pulled it from his bag, turning to the first page, which was a crossword.

"How good are you at crossword puzzles?" said Steve, glancing up at Bucky across the table.

"Awful," said Bucky, smirking. "Let's do this motherfucker."

The first few clues were easy enough: a six letter word for cat-like (feline), a ten letter word for mutual affection (friendship), a six letter word for a suggestively-shaped fruit (banana – admittedly a bit of an odd clue, but who was Steve to judge Leo's taste in puzzle books). When they got to the fourth clue, however, Steve had to read it several times to make sure he was understanding it correctly. Steve had been saying the previous clues aloud, since the puzzle book was facing him, so the words were upside down for Bucky, who was sitting opposite. Bucky craned his neck, trying to see what had got Steve so tongue-tied.

"What is it?" demanded Bucky. "What's the next clue?"

Steve looked around, flustered, not wanting to say the decidedly sexual clue out loud in the middle of the busy train carriage. He wordlessly pushed the puzzle book and pen across the table to Bucky, letting him read it for himself. To his embarrassment, Bucky read the clue aloud, causing several passengers seated nearby to shoot them strange looks.

"Four letters," said Bucky. "A source of intense pleasure... Hang on, what?"

Steve leaned forwards, glancing around awkwardly, and muttered so that only Bucky could hear.

"Am I being a massive pervert, or is that really... dirty?" he whispered.

Bucky's eyes were lit up with mirth. He visibly fought to keep himself from laughing, nodding and wiggling his eyebrows in response to Steve's question.

"I think we need to have a talk with our friend Leo about his puzzle books," smirked Bucky. "But anyway, _the clue_. Four letters. A source of intense pleasure. Go."

Steve stared at him, before realising that Bucky seriously wanted to work out the clue. Bucky seemed to be enjoying Steve's embarrassment, his eyes twinkling and his face lit up with a wicked grin. Steve blushed, eyes darting around the carriage to make sure no one was listening.

"Cock?" said Steve tentatively.

With great restraint, Bucky managed to hold it together. He hummed thoughtfully, scribbling "cock" in the margin beside the crossword as a possible candidate.

"How about something more general," said Bucky. "Fuck?"

Steve could feel himself blushing crimson. The easy way with which Bucky casually referred to fucking – _they were in public, Jesus Christ_ – got Steve hot and bothered in all kinds of unexpected ways. Bucky lazily scrawled the word "fuck" onto the margin of the puzzle book, clearly enjoying the effect it was having on Steve.

"Come on, Steve," prompted Bucky, his lips twitching up into a debauched grin. "What other four-letter word causes intense pleasure?"

Steve glanced around tentatively to make sure no one was listening.

"Lick?" he said.

Bucky scribbled down the word in the puzzle book, before slowly bringing the pen up to his mouth, licking the end of it slowly and sensually. Steve had to hold back a strangled moan as he watched Bucky's tongue, his trousers becoming uncomfortably tight as he thought about what Bucky _could_ be licking instead of that pen.

"Suck?" suggested Bucky, out of the blue. "Ride?"

Steve nodded mutely, his brain possibly short-circuiting for a moment as Bucky scribbled down the new suggestions in the puzzle book. After a moment, he came to his senses. Feeling a little shy, he tapped on Bucky's hand to get his attention, which had wandered to the view out of the window. At Steve's touch, however, Bucky's gaze immediately went back to him.

"Dick?" said Steve.

Bucky could not hold back a snort of laughter at that one, writing it in capital letters in the margin of the puzzle book, even adding a winking face as a joke.

"Come?" suggested Bucky.

"Not on a train; it's indecent!" said Steve.

At that, they could not hold it back any longer.

They dissolved into an explosive fit of stifled laughter, startling some of the passengers seated nearby.

Perhaps luckily for their fellow passengers, Durham was not too far away.

* * *

They arrived at Durham shortly after that, stepping out of the train onto the platform, only to be immediately assaulted by a humid wall of hot air.

Steve flipped his sunglasses down from on top of his head onto his face, reducing the glare of the bright summer sunshine even if he could do nothing about the heat. The train station at Durham was small, just two platforms: one going north, one going south. They followed their crowd of fellow passengers walking away from the train, going down some steps and then through an underpass beneath the tracks. They emerged on the other side of the station, stepping out into bright sunshine.

As they began to walk away from the station, Steve caught sight of something large in the distance, between the trees. He stopped abruptly, prompting a squawk of protest from the unfortunate woman who had been walking directly behind him. Steve apologised to her, before pulling Bucky over towards the gap in the treeline, curious as to what exactly he had seen.

They reached a small viewing area, gasping as the little city of Durham came into view. The train station was perched on the top of a hill, meaning that it afforded an incredible viewing point from which to see the rest of the town. From up here, they could see that Durham was a hilly little place, with old buildings clinging to the undulating landscape. Perched high on top of one of the neighbouring hills was the building that Steve had caught a glimpse of earlier: a majestic Romanesque cathedral, the pale stone gleaming in the sunlight. Next to it, there appeared to be a castle, a stunning relic plucked straight from history. The town had a small, quaint, old-fashioned vibe to it. Full of life, but in that charming, sleepy way that characterised small towns.

"Holy shit," said Bucky softly. "That's one hell of a view."

Steve nodded, staying silent for a while to simply immerse himself in the moment, absorbing the view and the delightful beauty of it. After a while, he came back to his senses, snapping a few pictures on his phone for both his and Natasha's sakes. They stayed there a little longer to enjoy the view, before starting their descent down the hill, going down a long set of steps, following the signs towards the town centre. As they descended the steps, Steve could feel himself beginning to sweat once more. The midday sun beat down on them from directly above, harsh and unforgiving.

They wound their way slowly through the streets, in no rush and not particularly wanting to make themselves hotter than they already were. Finally, they found themselves in an area that looked like the town centre, with shops, cafes, restaurants and throngs of people bustling along the pavements. It came slightly as a shock, after having spent days getting used to the quiet of the tiny, isolated village of Thornton-le-Dale. Bucky pulled his arm, pointing out a tiny ice cream parlour on the opposite side of the road, squashed between two shops.

"Wanna cool down with some ice cream?" said Bucky.

Steve nodded, suddenly realising his throat was parched. He licked his lips. Nothing was more inviting than ice cream in the middle of a heatwave. They waited for a gap between the cars – _damn, it was so weird to see cars driving on the wrong side of the road_ – before darting quickly across the street and entering the ice cream parlour, a little bell jingling as they opened the door.

The coolness of the building was a palpable relief, both Steve and Bucky audibly sighing to be out of the scorching midday sun. The ice cream parlour was busy, but not packed. They made their way to the counter, checking out the flavours on the board as the customers in front made their order. There were a range of flavours available: chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, raspberry ripple, lemon sorbet, salted caramel, mint and chocolate chip, and rum and raisin. Steve's eyebrows shot up at the last one; he could not remember the last time he had seen rum and raisin on sale back in Boston. It was considered old-fashioned back in the US, although apparently not in the UK.

Finally, it was their turn to be served, the people in front of them taking their ice creams and hurrying off to an empty booth.

"Hey guys," smiled the young woman behind the counter. "What can I get for you today?"

"Two large scoops of rum and raisin, please," said Bucky. "In a tub."

Steve snorted at Bucky's choice of flavour.

"Alright, grandpa," he smirked, his grin widening when Bucky scowled at him.

The woman tactfully ignored their exchange, grabbing a tub and rinsing her ice cream scooper.

"And I'll have one scoop of mint and one scoop of chocolate, please, in a cone," said Steve.

"Sure!" said the woman, smiling broadly.

A few minutes later, they headed away from the counter, their wallets a little lighter, Steve clutching his double ice cream cone whilst Bucky held his tub close to his chest. They found an empty booth near the window and slid into it, taking their seats opposite each other, happy and content as they started on their frozen desserts, watching the people walking down the street through the window.

The ice cream was delicious – creamy and flavourful and indulgent. Steve closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. The mint was bright and refreshing, perfectly complementing the richness of the chocolate. He licked it carefully, not wanting any of it to run down the cone onto his fingers. Bucky's eyes watched Steve's tongue as he licked delicately at his ice cream, his expression slightly dazed in a way that suggested his mind had gone straight to the gutter. After a moment, Bucky shook himself, coming back to his senses.

"Do you want to try some of mine?" offered Bucky.

Steve nodded. He was not sure he could remember ever having tried rum and raisin. It was such an old-fashioned flavour that he had never particularly had the opportunity.

"Sure," he said, before winking, pitching his voice lower. "You can lick mine while I lick yours."

Bucky groaned, visibly affected by Steve's words. Steve very much suspected that had they not been in a busy ice cream parlour, Bucky would have thrown Steve down and licked him exactly the way he wanted to. When Steve reached across the table to take Bucky's little tub of ice cream, however, the other man seemed to have a change of mind, pushing Steve's hand away at the last moment. Steve looked at him questioningly, nevertheless withdrawing his hand, puzzled.

"Since you're being a brat..." said Bucky. "Open your mouth. You'll get it when I say you can."

Steve stared at him. This time, it was his turn to be uncomfortably and unexpectedly turned on. Apparently, he had a kink for Bucky telling him what to do. Who knew? He opened his mouth obediently, trying not to ponder why exactly he was so willing to submit to Bucky's game. Bucky smiled, obviously pleased by Steve's response. He rewarded him by scooping up a generous chunk of rum and raisin onto his spoon, putting it in Steve's mouth gently.

"There you go," crooned Bucky. "Good boy."

Steve blushed, nevertheless unable not to preen at the praise, far more excited than he would ever have imagined to follow Bucky's instruction. Bucky smiled, the expression somehow both gentle and mixed with something darker.

"Just one more," said Bucky. "Since you look so good with things in your mouth."

Steve bit his lip at the innuendo, putting his hand in his lap to hide his semi-hard erection. Bucky fed him a second scoop of rum and raisin ice cream, watching intently when Steve sucked it off the spoon. Feeling a little shy, Steve offered his ice cream cone, not quite trusting himself to speak without blurting out something embarrassingly inappropriate for a public setting. To his relief, Bucky did not seem to mind, taking the cone with a smile and having a taste from both the mint and the chocolate scoops.

"Nice!" said Bucky. "That mint's so fresh."

The sexual tension broke, a more normal atmosphere returning as they finished their ice creams, alternating between chatting and people watching. Soon enough, they were finished, and they gave up their booth to allow some new customers to sit down. They wandered out of the ice cream parlour, heading along the street, until they came to a bridge. A river was flowing lazily down below, and they spotted some stone steps leading down to the riverside. On a whim, they went down the steps, finding a tarmac footpath running alongside the water for walkers and cyclists.

They began walking along the river, taking in the new sights and sounds. It was totally different down there compared to up on street level. Here it was quieter, greener, more tranquil. They passed several boathouses, which were painted with the crests and insignia of some of the university colleges. Steve wondered if Jemma or Leo had ever gone rowing. Neither of them particularly seemed like the sporty type, but for some reason he could imagine them gliding over the water, smooth and silent as their oars dipped into the river and pushed them forwards.

A rhythmic thudding sound was coming from behind them. They turned to see a four-person rowing boat whoosh by. The thudding was the sound of their seats rolling forwards and back as they propelled themselves through the water. Steve watched them, mesmerised by how in sync they were, like a four-headed beast, acting totally as one. There was something beautiful about rowing, the rowers somehow aloof and distant as they slid by, graceful and poised. Steve wondered who they were. They were presumably locals, since the students – like Jemma and Leo – were currently away on the long summer break between academic years.

Eventually, the boat rounded a bend in the river and disappeared out of sight. Steve and Bucky continued along the curve of the river, which seemed to bend around the town centre in the shape of a horseshoe. They came upon several wonderful oddities: a small folly in the design of an old temple, a large throne built from stone. Everywhere they looked, there was history and mystery. Steve was falling in love with Durham fast, and he had only arrived a few hours before. He could only imagine how fond Jemma and Leo must be of the place.

Eventually, they came up from the riverside path, climbing some more stone steps back up to street level. They still seemed to be in the town centre, although a different part from where they had come from. They wandered through the cobbled streets, admiring the old buildings as they passed. They came upon a market square, where traders were selling their goods and locals were milling around, chatting and hanging out. They examined a few of the stalls, before making their way up yet another stone-flagged street, heading uphill, following signs for the cathedral.

It came into view suddenly. One moment, they were walking along a regular cobbled street, tall buildings on either side blocking their view – the next, they were rounding the curve of the street, finding themselves staring across a green at the towering cathedral. Its architecture was Romanesque, although Steve could detect a Gothic vibe as well. The stone was pale, glorious in the bright sunshine. There were twin towers at one end of the cathedral, and a larger central tower rising near the other end. They gazed at the cathedral in awe, one thousand years of history right there in front of them, bowled over by the beauty of it.

A few mandatory pictures later, they were walking in through the large wooden door, instantly hit by the coolness compared to the outside. Steve did not consider himself a religious man, but nevertheless he was taken by a sense of hushed reverence as soon as he entered the space. There was a quiet, reflective sense of peacefulness within the cathedral; a timelessness, a serenity. Huge stone columns were supporting the high-vaulted ceiling, engraved with various fascinating patterns: zigzags, grids, vertical lines, and swirling lines rising up and up the columns. Steve had never seen anything like it before. It was unique. It was beautiful.

They spent a while simply walking slowly around the cathedral, taking their time to fully immerse themselves in the experience, to absorb the beautiful architecture and calm ambience. Eventually, they stumbled upon the cloister – an enclosed patch of green grass surrounded by open walkways – and Bucky let out a squawk of excitement, grabbing Steve's arm tightly.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" said Bucky, turning to Steve with an expression of barely controlled giddiness. "Do you know what this place is?"

Steve stared at him, not quite having expected such an extreme reaction from a mere cloister.

"Uh... Durham Cathedral?" he said.

" _No_ , dumbass," said Bucky. " _Hogwarts!_ This is where they filmed some of Harry Potter!"

Now that Bucky mentioned it, the cloister did look familiar. Steve vaguely remembered seeing Harry, Ron and Hermione within this very cloister in the Harry Potter films, and the realisation was exciting – although Steve was nowhere near the level of fanboy-ish delight that Bucky was currently experiencing. Bucky was talking enthusiastically about the scenes that had been filmed there, touching the stone reverently, his eyes wide and shining with boyish glee as he rushed around, wanting to see everything from every angle. Steve could not help grinning. Bucky was adorable when he got excited about things, and he seemed to be a huge Harry Potter nerd. Bucky demanded that Steve take his photo, pushing his phone into Steve's hands. Steve accepted the role of photographer without protest, smiling as he snapped several photos of Bucky posing in "Hogwarts".

They spent a great deal of time in the cloister – mainly for Bucky's benefit – until they finally moved on, heading back into the main part of the cathedral. They wandered around a little more, before they came upon a sign advertising the fact it was possible to walk up to the top of the cathedral and take in the view from the top. Steve and Bucky exchanged questioning glances, before grinning and nodding. They were on holiday. They would probably never go back to Durham again. It would be a shame to miss this opportunity.

They purchased their tickets and began their journey up the central tower. There were 325 steps going up in a winding stone staircase within the walls of the cathedral. It was exhilarating, to know they were walking literally _inside_ a cathedral that was almost one thousand years old. Steve wondered how many people had made the same journey, over the centuries, and found himself feeling a strange sense of connection with those nameless, faceless individuals.

Eventually, both of them panting slightly and a little out of breath, they emerged at the top of the cathedral, a brisk wind cooling them down after their long climb. They went to the edge and gazed out over the city of Durham, enthralled by the sight before them.

From up there, they had an unimpeded view for miles around. They could look down on the twin towers at the other end of the cathedral. They could see the river as it wound itself around the city centre, a shimmering ribbon of water. They could see the shops and the houses and the trees that formed the city as they clung to the undulating, hilly landscape. They could see the viaduct which held the train lines, and beyond that, rolling countryside, patchwork fields and little nearby villages. It was breath-taking.

"This is..." said Bucky, before trailing off, unable to put into words just how special it was. "Just, wow..."

Steve nodded in agreement, trying and failing to put it into words himself.

"I can see why Jemma and Leo love it here," he said eventually. "We'll have to thank them for suggesting we come visit here."

"Yeah," said Bucky. For a while, they simply enjoyed the view in silence, before Bucky continued: "Speaking of Jemma and Leo... Have you ever met two people so obviously in love?"

Steve laughed softly. He had thought the exact same thing, the night before, when the four of them had had dinner on the patio under the fairy lights. The way they looked at one another, the way they acted around one another... It was obvious to anyone with eyes that they adored each other. It mystified him that they were not yet a couple. For two literal geniuses, they sure were dumb when it came to realising they were in love – and that their love was reciprocated.

They lapsed into silence, watching the city of Durham from above: the people walking way down on the streets below, a train trundling over the viaduct, a rowing boat cutting its way through the smooth surface of the river. Steve's soul ached with the beauty of it.

What a perfect end, to a perfect day, in a perfect little town in the north-east of England.

* * *

They arrived back at Buttercup Cottage later that evening.

They said goodnight, went back to their respective rooms, showered, and prepared to sleep. Steve lay down in his bed, naked, too hot to bring himself to pull on his pyjamas or get underneath the duvet. He closed his eyes, willing himself to nod off to the land of dreams. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Then thirty... He was still wide awake. It was too hot. The air in his room was muggy and uncomfortable. He could feel himself sweating, even as he starfished against the cool sheets, trying to expose as much of himself as possible to the non-existent draught.

He was startled by a gentle knock at his door. Pulling on some boxers for decency, he crossed the room and opened the door. There, he found Bucky, who was also standing in his underwear and looking tired.

"I couldn't sleep," said Bucky. "Wanna hang out for a bit?"

Steve pulled his door open wider, inviting him in. It was the first time Bucky had been inside Steve's room, and he looked around in interest, examining the paintings on the walls.

"I couldn't sleep either," said Steve. "Too hot."

Bucky nodded, his lips quirking up into a smirk as he turned to face him.

"Wouldn't mind another one of those ice creams, right?" said Bucky. "Maybe I could feed it to you again."

Steve sat down on the bed, patting it in invitation for Bucky to do the same. He laughed, lowering his gaze, slightly embarrassed now to remember how he had let Bucky spoon-feed him ice cream so readily. Bucky sat down on the bed next to him, leaning back against the wall. He was mere inches away. Steve's skin tingled at his proximity.

"I just like ice cream, OK?" joked Steve.

Bucky hummed thoughtfully. Steve could feel him watching him in his peripheral vision. Bucky's fingers sought out Steve's and intertwined with them, Steve's heart stuttering a little when Bucky's thumb began to sweep absentmindedly across the back of his hand.

"See, the way I remember it, you seemed to like it when I told you what to do in the ice cream parlour," said Bucky. "Seemed to get you a bit flustered."

Steve opened and closed his mouth, unsure how to respond, before blushing, because damn it, he was getting flustered _again_.

"I just... like ice cream," he said lamely, but the lie was evident even to his own ears.

Bucky chuckled, rolling over so that he was on top of Steve, his weight pinning him down against the mattress.

"You sure?" said Bucky, rolling his hips and causing Steve to bite back a moan. "You sure you don't have any kink whatsoever for power play?"

Steve shook his head, even as his own cock betrayed him, twitching against Bucky's thigh, revealing the truth.

"So, like, if I told you that you weren't allowed to come until I said so, and then teased and fucked the hell out of you, that wouldn't turn you on at all?" said Bucky.

Steve stared at him, Bucky's words apparently having temporarily rendered him mute as his brain short-circuited.

"Uhh..." he said.

"Because I kind of like that idea," whispered Bucky, his hands closing around Steve's wrists and pinning them down against the bed. "I kind of want to take control and tell you what you can and can't do tonight."

Steve could not help the moan that slipped from his lips. Casting aside his shame, he bit his lip and nodded hesitantly. He did not often indulge his submissive side, but at that moment, he could think of nothing that he needed more than for Bucky to pin him down, give him orders, and do whatever the fuck he wanted to him. The idea of being dominated by Bucky had got him rock hard in embarrassingly little time. He experimentally tried to tug his hands free, but Bucky's strong grip held him tightly, preventing him from moving. He moaned, high pitched and stuttering, already wrecked, and Bucky had barely touched him.

"Good boy," said Bucky. "You're such a good slut, you know that?"

Steve whimpered against Bucky's lips as Bucky leant down to kiss him, the degrading statement only exciting him further. He rutted up against Bucky, letting the other man feel his erection, letting him know that he was just as into this as Bucky. Bucky groaned when he felt Steve's excitement rubbing against him, kissing him more aggressively, before nipping at his throat, slightly rougher than was perhaps necessary. Steve stretched his neck out, giving him better access. Rough was good. He liked rough Bucky. He _needed_ rough Bucky.

"Three rules," panted Bucky. "One: you can't come until I say so. Two: I get to do whatever I want. Three: if it stops being fun for you, you've got to tell me – I'll stop."

His voice gentled at the last request, making it clear that even though Bucky was going to be the one in charge tonight, Steve retained the power to stop everything, at any moment, if it went too far. Steve nodded his consent.

"I understand," he said. And then, just because he could: " _Sir_."

Bucky growled, surging down to claim Steve's mouth with another bruising kiss. His hand shoved down into Steve's boxers, unceremoniously groping his dick, causing Steve to whimper and moan as he got fondled and jerked off roughly. He was painfully erect, leaking pre-come like a faucet as Bucky's hand tugged him in short, pleasurable jerks.

"I brought lube," murmured Bucky. "I'm going to give you exactly two minutes to prep yourself, then I'm fucking you, whether you're ready or not."

He said it so casually that it took Steve a moment to register exactly what he had said. When the words finally penetrated his brain, however, he looked up at him in shock, his reaction causing Bucky's eyes to gleam with dark excitement. Bucky dropped the bottle of lube onto the bed, before getting off him, scooting down to sit cross-legged at the end of the bed, looking at the clock on the wall.

"Two minutes exactly," said Bucky silkily. "Starting now."

Steve spent several seconds sitting there in mute shock, before coming to his senses, scrabbling to grab the lube and ripping off his boxers. He lay down on the bed, letting his legs fall apart, forcing himself to relax as he popped open the lid of the lube. He squirted out a good amount onto his fingers, coating them liberally, before reaching down between his legs and slowly pushing the first finger inside.

It was too much, too fast, but he was on the tightest of schedules, so he gritted his teeth against the burn, pushing past his tight sphincter with a broken moan. Bucky was not looking at him at all, his eyes fixed on the second hand of the clock, counting down the seconds until he was going to fuck Steve in the ass, whether he was sufficiently prepped or not.

That might have filled a normal person with dread, but Steve was quickly discovering that perhaps his mind was a more fucked up place than he had ever known, because there was a newly unleashed submissive side of him that was giddy with pleasure at the idea of being used by Bucky, of being dominated so completely that even his own comfort was secondary to the need to obey.

"One minute gone," said Bucky. "One minute to go."

Bucky casually pulled off his own underwear, opening a condom packet that Steve had not noticed before and rolling a condom down his thick cock. Steve whimpered as he forced in a second finger alongside the first. It hurt, but it would hurt a hell of a lot more if he were not sufficiently stretched to accommodate Bucky's thick girth.

He closed his eyes, ignoring his discomfort as he pumped his fingers in and out as fast as he could, stretching himself by scissoring his fingers apart. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to push in a third finger. He cried out at the intense burn, a single tear trickling down his cheek, his ass on fire, his fingers too much yet not enough, painful yet pleasurable. Despite it all, his cock remained rock-hard and leaking against his abdomen, betraying the fact he was 100% enjoying this, a submissive and a masochist all bundled up in one mewling, sweating, desperate package.

"Two minutes is up," said Bucky.

Steve gasped. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had not noticed Bucky crawl his way back up the bed and between his legs. Wordlessly, he pushed Steve's hands away from his ass, lining his cock up with Steve's hole.

"I hope you prepped yourself enough," said Bucky. "Because I'm fucking you either way."

Without a moment's hesitation, Bucky pushed forward, the blunt head of his cock pressing hard against Steve's tight, slick hole. Steve gasped, more turned on that he had ever been before in his life, as he stared at the debauched sight between his legs, Bucky's cock forcing its way in past Steve's tight sphincter. He let out a cry of half-pain, half-pleasure as Bucky's thick cock roughly popped inside, the burning stretch far more intense than usual, his ass tighter than it should be, not well-prepped enough, even if it was better than nothing.

His eyes watered against the pain as Bucky began fucking him roughly, his hands finding Steve's wrists and pinning them once more against the mattress. Steve lay there helplessly, his ass getting brutally stretched as Bucky fucked him hard and fast, pinned down against the bed, unable to move and so unbelievably turned on that he thought he might scream. His cock was bouncing against his abdomen with every thrust that Bucky ploughed into his body. Pre-come was smearing there, clear and wet and slimy, like a lewd snail trail.

And then, Bucky changed his angle, canting his hips so that he was driving against Steve's prostate with every inward thrust, his cock pulling out almost until he left Steve's poor abused rim, before slamming back inside, pounding that little bundle of nerves. Steve lost it. He turned his head to the side and bit his pillow, screaming into it as Bucky fucked him, every punch against his prostate making his pleasure spiral higher and higher, wave after wave of it layering on top of one another, until his body was taut like a string, vibrating, ready to shatter at the next pluck.

"Remember," said Bucky, his voice tight with his own pleasure. "You can't come until I say so."

Someone was begging. It took Steve a moment to realise that that person was himself, a litany of " _oh fuck, please, god, please, please, yes, yes, yes, please let me come"_ falling from his lips like a madman. His ass was burning, Bucky's thick cock was destroying him, and he was loving every second of it. His prostate was white hot, pleasure hot in his veins like lava. He felt that if he did not come soon, he would lose his mind, his sanity shredded forever by Bucky's perfect cock.

Bucky was groaning, sweat dripping down his body as he thrust into Steve one, two, three more times, before stilling, burying himself to the hilt as he came, his face screwing up with pleasure as he spilled into the condom.

"You can come," he gritted out. "Fuck, Steve, come for me."

Steve's body obeyed immediately, his ass spasming around Bucky's cock as he shot his load onto his chest, his pleasure pulsing through him as he finally achieved release, coming harder than he had ever come before in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/620834721886355456/hot-summer-nights-written-by-elle1991-on-ao3). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> DURHAM PHOTOS: I have shared [these photos of Durham on my Tumblr](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/620286086050152448/hot-summer-nights-locations-durham-read-hot), if you want to see a little of what it looks like in real life :)
> 
> DURHAM: Everything I've described about Durham in this chapter is true: the view of the city from the railway station, the riverside walk with its stone folly and stone throne, the university college boathouses and the rowers, the quaint old-fashioned ambience, the market square, the cathedral and the view from the top, and the cathedral cloister where Harry Potter (and part of Avengers: Infinity War - the scene where Thor goes back in time to the palace in Asgard) were filmed. Are any readers from/familiar with Durham? If so, I hope you enjoyed its inclusion in this fic! I absolutely love Durham and definitely recommend it as a place to visit to people who have never been there before!
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you so much for all your amazing comments and kudos on the last chapter! I'm so glad you're all enjoying this fluffy story and are using it as an opportunity to "travel" at a time when real-life travel is sadly not permitted. Maybe one day when all this is over, you could check out Thornton-le-Dale and Durham in real life!
> 
> THOUGHTS: Oof, that got a bit kinkier than anticipated! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as Steve and Bucky enjoyed their day ;) As always, comments and kudos are loved, so please let me know your thoughts!
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will basically be a huge all-day, make-out and sex romp... ;) 
> 
> TUMBLR: Want to follow me or say hi on Tumblr? I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) over there <3


	6. It's Getting Hot In Here (So Take Off All Your Clothes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A helpful note for non-British readers: The Met Office (or Meteorological Office) is the national weather service for the UK. It provides weather forecasts and issues weather warnings!

The next day dawned hotter than ever.

The scorching, unrelenting heat of the sun baked the walls of Buttercup Cottage, making the very air inside the B&B thick and sticky. Steve and Bucky woke at about 9am, gasping in the humid air and peeling themselves off Steve's bed sheets, which were damp with sweat. Bucky headed back to his room to take a cold shower, and Steve did the same, letting the tepid water soothe the uncomfortable heat of his skin.

A short while later, they headed down to the dining room for breakfast to find an equally frazzled-looking Leo and Jemma, who were listening to the radio as they ate their breakfasts. It was the hottest day of the heatwave so far, according to the voice on the radio: a staggering 35°C, with amber warnings for heat having been issued by the Met Office for all of the UK, advising people to keep hydrated, stay out of the sun and keep cool. Leo got up when he saw them enter, still smiling despite his obvious discomfort from the temperature.

"Hey guys," he said. "Breakfast? What would you like today?"

They decided to go for natural yoghurt, fresh fruit and chilled fruit juice. Sadly, it was too hot to have Leo's signature cooked breakfast, but the cold, healthier breakfast was equally appreciated, helping to cool them down a little. Steve could feel his throat thankful for the cold, refreshing fruit and thick natural yoghurt. It soothed him, like a balm, helping him feel a little more human, a little less like a puddle.

After a brief discussion, Steve and Bucky decided it was probably best to heed the Met Office's advice and stay indoors to avoid getting baked by the sun. It was a fairly easy decision to make, since the humid heat had sapped them of their energy anyway. They could barely muster the willpower to move around inside the cottage, much less explore the village in the incessant heat. After thanking Leo for breakfast, they headed back upstairs, retiring to Steve's room.

Steve positioned the fan so that it was next to the bed and turned it on full blast, which seemed to give Bucky an idea. The other man disappeared for a minute, before returning with the fan from his own room. He plugged it into the plug socket and turned it on too. Steve sighed with relief. With two fans, the air flow in the room gave the illusion of a cool summer breeze, making the boiling heat much more tolerable.

Steve lay down on the bed, patting the space beside him in invitation. Bucky crawled up onto the bed and lay down next to him, a gentle smile on his face as he reached out a hand and stroked it absentmindedly through Steve's hair. Steve closed his eyes, melting at the touch. Bucky's fingernails scratched lightly at his scalp. Steve wondered if this was what it felt like to be a cat, and had to force himself not to purr with how good it felt. The head scratches elicited a feeling of pure, luxurious relaxation.

Hair stroking slowly morphed into face stroking, which eventually became reciprocal, before finally evolving into slow, languid kisses. There was no urgency in their actions, no heated passion or desperate urge to get into one another's pants. It was simply slow, sensual making out – gentle, delicate and unexpectedly innocent. They explored one another's mouths slowly, tongues lapping gently against one another, tasting one another, memorising the shape of the other's lips. Steve licked at Bucky's mouth, his eyes closed and a feeling of something warm and fuzzy spreading through his chest. He could spend all day kissing Bucky and never get bored. He could happily spend all day kissing him and be satisfied, with no expectation of anything more. It was a nice feeling to have.

Eventually, Bucky's hand drifted lower, sliding from Steve's face down to his neck, before following the curve of his chest and coming to a rest on his side. Steve squirmed slightly, feeling ticklish. It was not fair: whilst his armpits could withstand even the most sustained assault, his sides were embarrassingly ticklish. Bucky noticed Steve's squirming and let out a surprised giggle of delight.

"Oh my God, are you _ticklish_?"

Steve screwed up his face and shook his head, putting on his best innocent face, trying to deny it.

"No!" he said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, looking sceptical. A sudden wiggle of Bucky's fingers against Steve's side caused him to giggle helplessly, revealing the lie. Steve pouted as Bucky grinned triumphantly, as if he had won some kind of competition. As it turned out, Steve's train of thought was not a million miles away from Bucky's, as the other man chewed his lip thoughtfully, before speaking.

"How about we play a game?" said Bucky. "We each have five seconds to tickle one another, and if the other guy laughs, he has to reveal a new fact about himself. We can get to know each other better."

Steve smiled. He liked the sound of that. It sounded like a wonderful game. He would like to learn more about Bucky, to get to know him a little better. He nodded, his eyes meeting Bucky's, losing himself momentarily in the dark blue. Bucky really did have the most beautiful eyes.

An unexpected dig into his side had Steve laughing again, squirming to get away from Bucky's tickling fingers. He pushed his hand away helplessly, unable to stop himself from snorting with undignified laughter.

"OK, OK!" said Steve, before realising he had to reveal something new about himself. "Uhh... When I was younger, I used to be really small and skinny. Like, I was the tiniest kid in the class all through elementary school. Then puberty hit me like a train, so... yay?"

Bucky's eyes were boggling, staring at Steve's six-foot tall, muscular physique and obviously struggling to believe he was once the smallest, weakest little scrap of a boy. If Steve had not experienced it first-hand, he may have struggled to believe it himself. Puberty had been shockingly good to him.

Steve's fingers casually drifted over to Bucky's side, before suddenly digging in, catching Bucky by surprise, causing him to let out a wheeze of laughter. Steve grinned as Bucky glared at him, the other man obviously annoyed at himself for having got distracted enough to lose focus on the game. Steve sniggered, wiggling his shoulders in a little victory dance.

"Bucky fact!" he said, coining the catch phrase and instantly loving it, even as Bucky good-humouredly rolled his eyes in faux disapproval.

"Alright..." said Bucky. He was silent for a while, thinking about it, before finally saying: "I have three younger sisters. They can be annoying as fuck sometimes, but they're not too bad, I guess."

The warmth with which he said "not too bad" told Steve that Bucky in fact loved his three younger sisters very much indeed. He smiled. He could easily imagine Bucky as the protective older brother. He could picture him teasing and annoying them, but leaping to their defence immediately should anyone try to hurt them. The idea warmed his heart, although he had no idea why.

The game continued for another hour. During that time, Steve learnt many fascinating things about Bucky. He learnt that Bucky preferred cats to dogs. He learnt that Bucky hated mushy peas. He learnt that Bucky could sing the alphabet backwards. He learnt that Bucky loved citrus-flavoured yoghurt.

With each newly discovered secret, Steve felt that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest grow larger.

The more he learnt about Bucky, the more he liked the man.

* * *

At 1pm, their growling stomachs told them it was time for lunch.

They reluctantly got out of bed and traipsed their way downstairs, intent on going to one of the local cafes to buy some lunch. When Jemma spotted them heading towards the front door, however, she stuck her head out of the reception booth, calling them back.

"Steve! Bucky! Where are you going?" she said.

They turned around to see her watching them anxiously, her large brown eyes flitting between them.

"We're just off to get some lunch," said Steve.

Jemma bit her lip, her fingers fiddling with a pen.

"But... What about the heatwave?" she said. "The Met Office said to avoid going out at midday. Right now is the hottest part of the day."

Steve smiled. Jemma's concern was extremely sweet.

"We'll be fine, really," said Steve. "It's just a bit of heat."

Jemma huffed a little indignantly, as if it physically offended her to hear Steve play down the words of the weather scientists. Actually, thought Steve, given that Jemma was a scientist herself, that might have been exactly right.

"You don't have to go out," she said, kindly but firmly. "Leo and I have plenty of spare food in our staff fridge."

She slipped out from the reception booth and crossed the hallway, gesturing for them to follow her to the kitchen. Steve and Bucky exchanged glances, before shrugging and following her. Jemma led them to a fridge and pulled it open, rummaging amongst the food on the shelves.

"We've got fillings for sandwiches," said Jemma, "sausage rolls, fruit, veg, some sushi boxes..."

"Ooh, sushi boxes?" said Bucky, suddenly interested.

Jemma smiled, fetching two large sushi boxes from the top shelf of the fridge.

"Leo got four boxes just this morning," she said. "Do you guys want to take two? Don't worry about paying us back; the boss pays for our food expenses anyway."

She handed one large sushi box each to Steve and Bucky, grinning and waving aside their astonished gratitude as they took their boxes and thanked her profusely.

"Oh my God, this looks amazing!" said Steve, staring at the generous and delicious selection of sushi in his box. "Thank you so much, Jemma."

Jemma smiled, shooing them out of the kitchen.

"Enjoy!" she said. "Let me know if you need anything else. I'll be cleaning downstairs, so if you need me, I'll be around."

They thanked her again, barely able to believe their good luck at having had such an amazing lunch literally placed in their hands. They headed upstairs, going back to Steve's room, where their twin fan set-up was doing a good job of keeping the room at a habitable temperature. They kicked off their shoes and sat back on the bed, opening their sushi boxes, their mouths watering at the sight of the delicious food.

There were a variety of different sushis in the box: nigiri, where a thin slice of fish adorned a clump of rice; makizushi, where seaweed was wrapped around the rice and filling; and temaki, where the sushi rolls were more cone-like in shape. There were various flavours and fillings: tuna, salmon, cucumber, avocado, and mushroom. Steve's stomach rumbled loudly, and so he tucked into his meal, enjoying the little explosions of flavour on his tongue with every bite. With the combination of good food and good company, time passed quickly, and before Steve knew it, he was finishing his meal, sighing happily as he popped the final sushi roll in his mouth, sated and pleasantly full.

It was only then that he noticed that Bucky had not touched much of his sushi at all. He frowned, puzzled, gesturing at the other man's barely eaten meal.

"What's up?" he said. "Is something wrong with your food?"

For some reason, Bucky smirked, his eyes gleaming in a way that suggested his mind was – for some inexplicable reason – thinking of things much more risqué than his lunch.

"Oh no, it's delicious," said Bucky. "I just prefer to eat off a proper table."

Steve blushed, embarrassed that he had not offered Bucky a seat at his dressing table. It simply had not crossed his mind.

"I'm so sorry," said Steve, hurrying to move off the bed. "You can use the vanity. I'll move my stuff off it. You can– "

He was cut off by Bucky's hand closing around his wrist, pulling him back to the bed.

"No," said Bucky, his dark blue eyes roving hungrily over Steve's body. "I want to eat off you. Take your clothes off and lie flat on your back."

Steve stared at him, momentarily stunned into silence, not quite able to believe what he had just heard. Bucky wanted to eat his lunch off Steve's naked body? He wanted to use Steve as a _table_?! It was one of the craziest things he had ever heard, but at the same time, there was something thrilling about it, that same submissive side of him that had let Bucky control him the night before raising its head in interest at the idea of being Bucky's lunch table. He scanned Bucky's face for any sign that this was a joke. Bucky stared back at him, completely serious.

Steve ducked his head shyly, a blush colouring his cheeks as he stripped out of his clothes. His t-shirt went first, coming up over his head, to be dumped unceremoniously on the floor. His shorts were next, followed by his boxers, until he was completely nude, feeling slightly self-conscious under Bucky's intense gaze. He was not sure why he felt so shy – after all, he had been naked in front of Bucky before, in far more compromising positions. Possibly, it felt strange because usually their nudity was mutual, whereas now Bucky was fully clothed whilst Steve was completely naked. Perhaps, too, it was due to the novelty of the situation; Steve had never been someone's dining table before.

Taking a deep breath, he lay down on the bed, making sure he was comfortable, since he assumed it would be difficult to shift his position once Bucky covered him in sushi. He lay flat on his back, his arms and legs straight, feeling slightly foolish. He looked up at Bucky, who was biting his lip, his eyes dilated as he stared at Steve spread out obediently in front of him, a slight tent forming in his shorts.

"Perfect," murmured Bucky. "So perfect..."

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Bucky took his sushi box and carefully began placing the little morsels of food on Steve's body. Steve kept still as Bucky adorned his chest, abdomen, thighs and groin with sushi pieces. He had to suppress some nervous laughter at the sheer strangeness of the situation when Bucky carefully placed some salmon slices on either side of Steve's flaccid cock, his attention completely focused on the placement of the food, his forehead creased with concentration.

At last, Bucky finished placing all the sushi pieces on Steve's body. He took a moment to lean back and admire his handiwork, his eyes sweeping appreciatively down Steve's body, which was now decorated like a platter, each piece of sushi deliberately placed for maximum aesthetic value. Steve blushed, having to swallow back another giggle that threatened to claw its way up his throat. He was not even sure what was so funny. It was simply a wonderful, bizarre, hilarious moment.

Seemingly satisfied with his makeshift dinner table, Bucky reached out and picked up a piece of sushi off Steve's nipple. He popped it into his mouth, humming with pleasure at the delicious flavour, closing his eyes to savour it. The second piece of sushi was plucked from Steve's abdomen. The third was taken from his groin, where it had been resting against the side of his cock. Steve felt himself hardening slightly, the proximity of Bucky and the fact he was simultaneously staring at and ignoring Steve's naked body combining to give him the most confused semi-erection of his life.

Bucky ignored Steve's hardening cock, simply smiling to himself with each bite of sushi, enjoying his lunch, paying no heed to his dinner table. As Bucky continued to eat, Steve could feel a giggle building inside himself. It was simply too funny, too weird, too wonderful to keep it in. He fought to keep a straight face, breathing through his nose, trying to control himself – but the more he tried not to laugh, the more urgent the urge to laugh became. He could feel it building up inside of him – a huge, hearty guffaw – just waiting to be unleashed; manic and wild and totally inappropriate. It was ridiculous. The reaction was completely out of proportion to the situation, but that in itself only made it funnier, his growing hysteria refusing to be confined, his self-control fraying at the edges.

Bucky peeled a piece of salmon off the side of Steve's cock, humming to himself as he placed it delicately in his mouth. It was the final straw. Steve lost it, his self-control totally obliterated, a huge belly laugh exploding out of him, carrying on, and on, and on... He could feel his abdominal muscles aching with the force of his laughter, tears leaking from his eyes and dripping down the side of his face as he laughed hysterically, unable to stop, each peel of laughter triggering yet more laughter, until he was shaking with the force of it, his face wet with tears as he laughed and wept in equal measure.

He was not quite sure how long it went on for. At some point, Bucky removed the final pieces of sushi from Steve's body, so that he could laugh without having to worry about jostling the food and making a mess of his bed. Soon after that, Bucky's hand found Steve's and held it gently, guiding him through his unexpected bout of hysteria, calming him, grounding him, waiting patiently for it to finish, stroking his hair, his eyes clear and non-judgemental.

About twenty minutes after it started, Steve finally calmed down. The final explosive giggles tapered off into silence, leaving him both drained and slightly shocked at his behaviour. He shook his head lightly, unsure what on earth had come over him. He looked up at Bucky, half-afraid to see scorn in his eyes, but Bucky merely smiled at him gently, squeezing his hand comfortingly.

"Are you OK?" said Bucky. "Sub space can be a funny thing, sometimes."

Steve nodded.

"I... think so?" he said.

Bucky smiled, leaning down to kiss Steve gently, a hand stroking comfortingly through his hair.

"That's good," Bucky said softly. "That's important."

* * *

That evening, after dinner, they went back to Bucky's room, moving the two fans from Steve's room into Bucky's so that his room could benefit from their cooling power too.

They flopped down on the bed; the heat, although finally dissipating, had nevertheless drained them of their energy. They stripped off their clothes, sighing with relief as the fans cooled their bare skin. Outside, the sun was slowly setting, the village letting out a collective sigh of relief to finally be rid of the scorching heat.

They lay in bed silently, too tired to talk, comfortable enough in each other's presence that the silence was peaceful rather than awkward. After a while, one of Bucky's hands reached out and snaked its way around Steve's back, drawing them together, so that they were cuddling. Steve smiled, draping an arm around Bucky too, enjoying the solidness of his body; swathes of muscle, hard lines intermixed with dips and curves.

Bucky's fingers lazily traced patterns on Steve's back, his fingernails scratching just slightly, causing Steve to close his eyes with bliss. It felt divine, like a cat being worshipped; slow, languid touches that had him practically purring. He realised after a while that he was letting out mewling little gasps and moans whenever Bucky gave him a particularly pleasurable scritch, immediately embarrassed that Bucky could so easily wring those noises out of him. Bucky did not seem to mind, smiling and pressing a kiss against Steve's lips when he saw Steve blush.

"Don't stop," said Bucky. "I love those noises."

One kiss led to another, until they were cradling one another's faces, kissing and making out, slowly and sensually. Their tongues lapped against one another, exploring one another's mouths, chasing the taste of one another's lips. Steve lost himself in the feel of Bucky's mouth against his own, revelling in the wet warmth of his tongue, the softness of his lips, the masculine scratch of his beard. They kissed for what felt like an hour, in no hurry, simply enjoying each moment, their lips becoming erogenous zones in themselves, capable of finding pleasure just by placing kisses on one another's bodies.

Eventually, their kisses became hungrier, their hands wandering, seeking out more sensitive skin. Steve's hand closed around Bucky's cock, drawing a groan out of him as he stroked him slowly, his heart racing with excitement as he felt Bucky's cock harden and grow in his hand. Finally, Bucky was fully erect, his hard cock hot and thick in Steve's palm. Steve jerked him off slowly, squeezing a bead of pre-come out of him and using it as lube, easing the movements of his hand. Bucky was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed and his teeth gritted as Steve pleasured him. Just then, Steve gave a particularly delicious twist of his wrist, stimulating Bucky's cock head, causing Bucky to thrust his hips forward, a cry of torment falling from his lips.

Quick as a flash, Bucky manhandled Steve so that he was lying on his front, his half-hard cock trapped between his abdomen and the bed sheets. He rocked his hips a little, gaining some friction on his neglected cock, growing harder, as Bucky scooted behind him, finally settling between Steve's parted legs. Steve felt Bucky grab his ass cheeks firmly, pulling them apart to gaze at Steve's tight puckered hole. He heard Bucky moan, the sound lustful and hungry, as if he wanted to take Steve right then and there. The fantasy had Steve giddy with excitement, his cock throbbing against the bed sheets, oozing pre-come.

The mattress squeaked as Bucky leaned down, and suddenly there was something hot and wet lapping at Steve's hole, as Bucky began to lick and tongue his most intimate area. Steve let out a strangled moan into the mattress, his hands scrabbling to grab onto something as Bucky licked a long, lewd stripe from his balls to his asshole. His fingers found a pillow, and he clung to it as Bucky began to bathe his hole with his tongue, alternating between flat, wet licks and more focused, intense probing.

Steve could feel his rim slowly begin to loosen as Bucky lavished it with attention, the wet heat of his tongue coaxing his muscles to relax, until finally Bucky was able to penetrate him slightly with his tongue, pushing in past the tight ring of muscle. Steve let out a guttural moan when he felt Bucky's tongue breach his sphincter, the sensation so debauched, so taboo, that it caused another dribble of pre-come to ooze from the tip of his cock, soaking into the bed sheets. Bucky continued rimming him as if his life depended on it, until Steve was a hot, blabbering mess, his legs spread wide in invitation, begging for more.

Bucky seemed to get the message, surfacing from between Steve's ass cheeks to grope about in the bedside table, withdrawing a condom and a bottle of lube. He squirted a glob of lube onto his fingers, before returning between Steve's thighs, one finger coated in cool lube immediately probing at his entrance.

Steve forced himself to relax as Bucky's finger sank into him, the digit slipping in fairly easily given the prior attention Bucky had lavished upon Steve's hole. Bucky began to pump his finger in and out, pushing in as deep as possible, spreading the lube around his inner walls. Before long, a second finger joined the first, the stretch more intense this time, Steve gasping his way through the burn. By the time Bucky added a third finger, Steve was a writhing mess. He was ready. He needed more than Bucky's fingers. He needed Bucky to plough him into the mattress, to fuck him hard and deep, to soothe this heat that had slowly been simmering between them all day.

"Please," begged Steve. "I'm ready. I need you."

Bucky withdrew his fingers from Steve's ass with a wet pop. Steve heard the rustle of the condom packet being torn open, and soon after, the blunt head of Bucky's cock pressed against Steve's hole. Steve moaned into the pillow as Bucky slowly pushed inside, his thick cock stretching him open, Steve's wet rim stretched tight, clinging to Bucky's shaft. Bucky popped in past Steve's sphincter, and then inch after inch was sliding home, until Bucky's balls were nestled against Steve's own, both of them catching their breath as they got used to the feeling of Bucky's cock seated fully in Steve's tight ass.

Steve clenched and unclenched the muscles of his ass around Bucky's cock, making him gasp, milking him without moving an inch, smirking into the pillow at the desperate sounds he was able to draw from Bucky's lips. The smirk was quickly wiped off his face when Bucky pulled back and rammed hard back inside, making him see stars as he drove the blunt head of his cock directly against Steve's prostate.

Bucky set a steady pace, going slowly at first, letting Steve get used to the sensation of being fucked. Steve felt himself relaxing, his mouth slack against the pillow as Bucky slowly fucked his cock in and out of Steve's ass. Each thrust stimulated his prostate. Each thrust jolted Steve against the bed, causing his hard cock to rub against the bed sheets. It was an excruciating form of torture. It was almost like edging, stimulating enough to keep him aroused but not enough to get him off. With each thrust, he could feel himself getting hotter, hornier, more desperate. He needed Bucky to go harder, faster, rougher. Swallowing back his pride, he lifted his face off the pillow, looking back at Bucky behind him.

"Please..." he begged. "More."

Bucky held his gaze, grabbing him by the hips and fucking into him faster, increasing the tempo, beginning to sweat as he rammed harder and harder into Steve's ass. Steve groaned, burying his face back in the pillow when Bucky really started to pound into him, the mattress squeaking wildly under them as Bucky's cock plunged in and out of Steve's desperate hole. Steve could feel his pleasure spiralling higher, that hot coil of tension beginning to wind tighter and tighter inside him as Bucky battered his sensitive prostate. The rub of the bed sheets against his cock sought to pleasure him from both sides, rubbing discreetly against his erection, almost secretive, an extra forbidden bit of pleasure that Steve was stealing as Bucky destroyed his slick, gaping hole.

Behind him, he could hear Bucky's breathing getting harder and more desperate. Losing all finesse, he gripped Steve's hips hard enough to bruise, ramming himself violently inside, chasing his orgasm, using Steve's ass like a fuck toy, his balls slapping hard against Steve's, heavy and taut and full of come. It was the final straw. With a cry, Steve spilled his load all over the bed sheets, his cock untouched, a long high-pitched whine escaping him as his ass and dick throbbed with pleasure, contracting and releasing rhythmically, tightening around Bucky's cock, catapulting the other man into his own powerful orgasm. Steve could feel Bucky's cock throbbing as he flooded the condom with come, Bucky letting out a guttural groan as he rammed his cock as deep as it would go, stilling as he unleashed his load.

Afterwards, when they were both limp and sated, when the used condom had been discarded in the bin and they had both cleaned themselves off as best they could with some tissues, they lay together on the bed, side by side. Wordlessly, Bucky wound an arm around Steve's waist, manoeuvring them so that they were spooning – Bucky the big spoon, Steve the little spoon. Steve smiled sleepily into the pillow. Who knew Bucky was a cuddler?

Steve closed his eyes, choosing to enjoy it while it lasted. No doubt it was simply the afterglow of the mind-blowing sex they had both just enjoyed, and soon enough Bucky would come to his senses and let him go. Steve wondered what he should do, then. Should he go back to his own room? There were still a few hours left until they usually went to sleep, and he did not know if it would be too "coupley" for them to spend all that time cuddling. After all, Bucky had made it abundantly clear on the first day that he was not looking for a relationship.

A short while later, when Steve made to move, however, Bucky tightened his arm around his waist, keeping him still and making a small noise of complaint.

Steve smiled. OK, he would stay, then. He did not mind. In fact, he quite liked cuddles.

They fell asleep in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/621471393941438464/hot-summer-nights-written-by-elle1991-on-ao3). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER EASTER EGG: Did you spot that Steve's first "fact" that he revealed about himself was a reference to the first Captain America film? He said that he used to be really small and skinny before puberty - which of course is a hat tip to pre-serum Steve!
> 
> THANK YOU: Wow, you guys seemed to love the last chapter - thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos! :D
> 
> THOUGHTS: Nothing much "happened" in this chapter - and yet, on another level, it feels like a lot did happen between the boys, on that unspoken, emotional level. I hope you enjoyed it! As always, please feel free to share your thoughts, feelings and favourite bits in the comments section below <3
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see Steve catch up with Natasha via video call, spend more time with Bucky in Thornton-le-Dale, and hang out some more with Jemma and Leo...
> 
> GET EXCLUSIVE TEASERS ONE DAY BEFORE PUBLICATION: I've started posting extra teasers/snippets about upcoming chapters for readers on my Tumblr account, one day before publication. If you want to get these exclusive previews, make sure to give me a follow at [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) and keep an eye out every Friday!


	7. Under The Willow Tree

The next day, thankfully, brought cooler weather.

"Cooler" was a relative term – it was still hot, still a heatwave – but to everyone's relief, it was nowhere near the unbearable 35°C of the day before. The amber weather warnings had been lifted by the Met Office, and the air no longer felt like soup.

The improved weather conditions lifted everybody's mood, injecting them all with fresh vigour and enthusiasm for the day. Steve and Bucky got up, showered, had breakfast, and then by mutual agreement decided to spend the morning separately. Much as they enjoyed one another's company, they both needed some time alone, if only to decompress, recharge their batteries and do tedious life admin such as sorting out their laundry. They agreed to meet back up together at noon, so that they could go out for a picnic lunch, and parted with a kiss.

Steve spent his morning reading a book, washing his dirty clothes, and researching nearby places for potential day trips. It was around 11am when he was startled by his mobile phone starting to ring with an incoming video call. He frowned, crossing the room to grab his phone. He wondered who could be ringing him; it was 6am in Boston, far too early for any ordinary sane American to be up and about.

_Incoming video call: Natasha Romanoff..._

Ah... Well, he was not entirely wrong, then. Natasha could not be described as an "ordinary sane American" by any stretch of the imagination. She was one of those freakish morning people who got up at the crack of dawn to do yoga at sunrise. She ate Cheerios and the souls of her enemies for breakfast. She prepared for a day of crushing it at work by balancing in weird poses whilst dressed in spandex, banishing any negative energy with the sheer force of her wholly terrifying demeanour. _Of course,_ Natasha would be awake and call him at 6am.

He answered the phone, grinning as a familiar mop of curly red hair came into view. Natasha's phone was balanced on the floor, pointing at her. Currently, she appeared to be doing a handstand against a wall in her apartment, her upside-down face smiling when Steve came into view.

"Hey bitch," she said.

Steve waved at the screen, impressed by the effortless way Natasha was balancing upside down, like a spider hanging down from a web.

"Hey Nat," he said. "Missing me?"

Natasha stuck her tongue out, gracefully coming down from her handstand in favour of settling down in the lotus position, her legs crossed, her hands on her knees, middle fingers touching her thumbs.

"Of course!" she said. "You're my favourite sounding board. The others just aren't the same when I bounce ideas off them – they're kind of shy. I'm starting to think they might be intimidated by me..."

She tapered off into thoughtful silence, frowning as if contemplating what about her could be so intimidating to her colleagues. Steve snorted with amusement. The answer could probably be summarised as "everything". Natasha was a truly awesome person once you got to know her, but unfortunately, she did have a singularly terrifying outer shell.

"Have you been busy?" said Steve.

"The busiest," said Natasha, her eyes widening slightly manically. "The new website launch is one week away and there's still shit that needs to get done! Turns out Brock was in charge of writing some of the webpages, which _obviously_ means they never got done. So, for the last week, I've been having fun writing website copy, as well as juggling everything else to do with the website and marketing. So, you know, the usual: stressful but exciting!"

Steve nodded, slightly in a daze. Natasha was Head of Marketing at Stanlee Publishers, and the breadth and complexity of her role always made Steve thankful that he was just a humble editor. Natasha always seemed to be busy with some complicated project, balls deep in search engine optimisation or website analytics or a dozen other things that went over Steve's head. He preferred working with words, polishing manuscripts to perfection for publication. He did not want to touch marketing with a bargepole.

"I have faith in you," said Steve. "If anyone can pull this out of the bag, you can."

Natasha smiled, her green eyes lighting up at the compliment.

"Thanks," she said. "Everything's mostly on track. I just need to sort out the staff page and then it'll mostly be done. Oh yeah, that reminds me: you'll need to have your picture taken when you get back. Got to have pictures and bios of all the staff on the new website, so clients know we're the real deal."

Steve whined. He hated having his photo taken. He always looked awkward in photographs. He had mentioned this once to Natasha, who had simply replied matter-of-factly that it was because he looked awkward in real life. He had learnt on that day not to go to Natasha if he wanted sympathy.

"Fine," he said begrudgingly. "Only because it's you."

Natasha smiled, dimples forming in her pale cheeks.

"Thanks, bitch!" she said brightly. "But anyway, that's enough boring work talk. How's the vacation going?"

Steve smiled dreamily, reflecting on the last week he had spent in Thornton-le-Dale.

"It's going really good," he said. "I've got some amazing pictures to show you when I'm back."

He pondered whether to tell her about Bucky. What would he say? _I've met someone. He's cool and funny and we fuck each other's brains out every night._ He did not speak out loud, but some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because Natasha gasped, her eyes widening as she leant in towards the camera, almost vibrating with excitement as she focused him with her entire attention.

"Oh my God!" she said. "Something's happened! What's happened?! _Spill!_ "

Steve laughed shyly, both amused and slightly overwhelmed by her intense gaze through the screen. After a few more moments of silent indecision, he caved, choosing to tell her. She would find out anyway. Once Natasha set her mind to something, she did not give in. He lifted his eyes to the screen, unable to stop the smile curving his lips when he saw Natasha leaning forwards eagerly, literally holding her breath with excitement, on tenterhooks.

"I've met a guy here," said Steve. "He's staying in the room next to mine. He's real nice; we've been exploring the area together and hanging out a bunch. And uh... we've been having lots of hot sex."

Natasha let out a noise that was half-way between a whoop and a screech, abandoning her delicate lotus pose in favour of waving her arms in mad celebration.

"Oh my God, you've finally got a boyfriend!" she said excitedly. "I was starting to think you might secretly be straight!"

Steve laughed, tickled by Natasha's reaction. She was still making enthusiastic screeching noises, her face stretched with a wide grin as she stared at him through the screen with unfiltered excitement.

"No, no, he's not my boyfriend," clarified Steve. "This guy's not into romance. We're just... having fun."

He lapsed into silence. Speaking to Natasha made it hit home for the first time just how much had happened in the last week. It was shocking to think that just seven days ago, he had not even met Bucky. So much had happened since then. It felt like he had known Bucky for much longer. Bucky already felt like a good friend – one who he had known for months or even years, not just one week.

For the first time, Steve wondered what was going to happen when the two weeks were over, and he had to return back home to the US.

The thought made something in his chest shift uncomfortably.

He pushed the thought out of his mind.

* * *

As arranged, Steve and Bucky met up at midday.

During the morning, Bucky had somehow managed to acquire from Jemma a picnic blanket and a picnic hamper full of food. Steve made a mental note to thank Jemma next time he saw her. From cooking them dinner after Bucky fell in the stream, to giving them free sushi and now giving them a free picnic, she was being a wonderfully generous host. Steve and Bucky split the picnic between them and set off from Buttercup Cottage, wandering lazily around Thornton-le-Dale in search of a good picnic spot.

They walked slowly, enjoying the old-fashioned charm of the village as they meandered along. Eventually, they found themselves following the stream, listening to the soothing sound of gently running water, occasionally punctuated by the chirping of crickets or the voices of villagers floating out of their homes. Steve and Bucky trudged along, sweating slightly beneath the hot midday sun, following the stream out towards the edge of the village, until they reached a secluded little area on the bend of the stream.

Here, a single large willow tree stood serenely, providing shade beneath its branches. Thick bushes surrounded the area, effectively obscuring them from view from anyone approaching from either direction. They paused, smiling when they realised they had just found the perfect picnic spot. It felt as though they were in their own little bubble, with just the willow tree, the bushes, and the stream gently gurgling by. There were no buildings nearby, no people, no traffic noises. It was simply a little oasis of tranquillity, calm and peaceful and perfect for a picnic.

They laid out their picnic blanket on the ground beneath the willow tree, before plonking themselves down and digging their food out of the picnic hamper. Steve's mouth watered as he took in the delicious spread Jemma had packed for them: a variety of mini-sandwiches, scones, chocolate chip cookies, strawberries and grapes. It looked divine. Stretching themselves out on the blanket, immensely thankful for the cool shade provided by the willow tree, they tucked into their picnic, relaxing and chatting as they sat and watched the stream flow by.

They ate slowly, savouring the food and the peacefulness of their surroundings. There, it felt as though time ceased to exist. Steve smiled, taking a moment to simply immerse himself in the present: good food, wonderful company, beautiful nature. Bucky was chewing on a strawberry, his legs stretched out casually, his gaze transfixed by the gently flowing water. Steve felt himself relax completely, blissfully content and carefree. He wished he could freeze that moment in time forever, so that he could take it out and examine it at any time, so that he could remember that perfect moment of peace, equilibrium and stillness.

The stream flowed, and as it did, so did time. At some point, they finished their food, before lying down on the blanket to relax, watching the thin, delicate leaves of the willow tree hanging above them. Steve stared up at the willow leaves, mesmerised by the way the blue of the sky peeked through the green. There was barely a breeze, the leaves barely moving, and Steve felt his eyelids droop with contented sleepiness, a lazy smile curving his lips.

They lay there for a while in silence, enjoying the warm summer day made bearable by the shade, the gentle sound of running water, the pleasant fullness of their bellies. Steve must have dozed off for a moment, because the next thing he knew, he was being awoken by soft lips pressing gently against his own. He opened his eyes to see Bucky lying there beside him, leaning over him gently, one hand cupped against his cheek as the other man's tongue swept lazily between Steve's parted lips. Steve moaned softly, opening his mouth a little wider, granting him access.

They kissed languidly. Steve's eyes fluttered closed as he lost himself in the blissful feeling of Bucky's mouth moving against his own. His tongue flicked out, chasing the flavour of Bucky's lips. He relished the soft warmness of his mouth, the sensuality of his tongue. He lifted a hand and ran it gently through Bucky's hair, his fingernails grazing lightly against his scalp, causing him to moan softly at the pleasurable sensation. As time went on, the kiss deepened, going from relatively chaste kisses to much filthier, open-mouthed snogs. Bucky's breath was hot against his skin, warming him literally as well as getting him fired up in a more sexual way.

Bucky's hand wandered slowly down Steve's chest, raking his fingernails over his t-shirt, grazing deliberately against his nipples, making him shudder. Bucky's hand stopped at Steve's belt, fingers tracing over the metal of the belt buckle. Steve stared down at the sight of Bucky's hand so near his crotch. His cock chubbed up a little in interest, lifting its head.

"There's no one else around," whispered Bucky. "Can I suck you off?"

It took a moment for Bucky's words to penetrate Steve's brain, his eyes widening with shock at the outrageous proposition. He gawped at Bucky, disbelief battling with arousal. His instinctive refusal was on the tip of his tongue – _they were outdoors, for God's sake, surely there must be laws against that kind of thing_ – when something (probably his rapidly hardening cock) made him pause and reconsider.

Like Bucky said, there really was no one else around. The willow tree and the bushes obscured them from prying eyes on their side of the stream, and on the other side there was thick shrubbery that would prevent anyone from walking along the water's edge and seeing them. Not only that, but the air was so still, the village so quiet, that they would easily be able to hear anyone approaching their location from quite a distance away. They were hidden. It was as private as it was possible to get, whilst still being outdoors in a public place.

Hardly able to believe what he was doing, he nodded slowly, arousal rushing to his crotch when Bucky groaned with pleasure and began undoing his belt. Feeling daring, Steve reached out and began undoing Bucky's shorts too, pulling out the other man's cock into the warm summer air at the same moment that Bucky pulled out Steve's cock too. His heart was hammering, both nervous and excited to be doing something so forbidden, so risky, so taboo. The danger of being caught was like an aphrodisiac, getting both of them rock-hard within seconds.

There was no time to take things slow. Someone could decide to walk down the same trail they had come along and stumble upon them at any time. Steve immediately leaned over, taking Bucky's cock in his mouth and bobbing his head quickly up and down. Bucky's cock was thick and hard in his mouth, dribbling pre-come from the tip. Steve salivated around the velvety skin, feeling giddy with excitement as he slurped down the pre-come and inhaled the rich, musky scent of his crotch.

A small groan escaped his lips when he felt hot wet heat surround his cock too, Bucky's lips wrapping around his shaft, his tongue flat against the underside of Steve's raging erection. Bucky began sucking him hard, one hand wrapping around Steve's shaft and jerking him at the same time as sucking him off. Steve was unbearably aroused. It was by far the wildest thing he had ever done. There he was, in public, hidden only by shrubbery and the willow tree, his cock hard and jammed down the throat of a gorgeous man he had not even met just one week prior, whilst simultaneously sucking Bucky's thick, seven-inch cock in return, the smell of dick filling his nostrils.

He thrust one hand down Bucky's shorts, rummaging around to play with Bucky's balls whilst taking him as deep in his mouth as he could. He relaxed his throat, breathing through his nose as he felt the tip of Bucky's cock nudge against his gag reflex. Bucky fucked his throat with quick, shallow thrusts, chasing his pleasure. Steve slipped his hand deeper into Bucky's shorts, brushing his finger gently against Bucky's dry puckered hole. Bucky let out a strangled moan around Steve's cock, grinding back against Steve's hand, easing out of his throat. Steve hummed around Bucky's cock, intrigued by his reaction and making a mental note of it for later. The vibrations around Bucky's cock seemed to get Bucky even more desperate, fresh pre-come leaking from his tip.

Steve began sucking him with renewed vigour, keeping an ear out for the sound of anyone approaching, but thankfully the only sounds to puncture the silence were the trickling of the stream, the sounds of Steve and Bucky enthusiastically sucking one another's cocks, and the occasional rustling of the willow leaves. Steve could feel his balls beginning to tighten as his pleasure drew closer. Bucky's mouth felt incredible on his cock. He was sucking Steve hard, concentrating on the tip, wanking the rest of his cock that he could not fit in his mouth. Steve could feel his orgasm approaching, hot lust tingling under his skin, his arousal coiled tight in his gut, ready to be unleashed.

He came with a muffled moan, hot come shooting out of his cock down Bucky's throat, spurting out of him in rhythmical little pulses. He screwed his eyes shut against the intense waves of pleasure as they throbbed through him, his toes curling as he had the most exhilarating orgasm of his life, right there in public, beside the stream, the willow tree and the shrubs the only things sheltering them from prying eyes.

Bucky's orgasm followed an instant later, thick salty come filling Steve's waiting mouth. Steve's eyes glazed over with bliss as Bucky shot his load onto his tongue, leaves rustling above them, revelling in the debauchery of their public tryst. Bucky bit back a moan, his grip tightening in Steve's hair, his big cock throbbing in Steve's eager mouth.

"Swallow it," ordered Bucky. "Oh, fuck..."

Steve obeyed, swallowing Bucky's load with a gulp, only for his tongue to be painted with another stripe of come. He moaned softly around Bucky's cock, sucking the last dribbles of come out of him, until the throbbing stopped and Bucky collapsed against the picnic blanket, finally sated.

They quickly tucked their softening cocks back into their underwear, zipping up their shorts and buckling their belts, looking outwardly acceptable once more.

Just one minute later, a middle-aged couple wandered along the path, giving Steve and Bucky a smile as they passed them relaxing under the willow tree.

* * *

That evening, after dinner, Jemma and Leo invited Steve and Bucky to join them for wine and cheese in the back garden.

They accepted graciously, following them out onto the patio, where Leo had already turned on the fairy lights, casting the place in a warm, intimate glow. In the middle of the patio table was a plate of various sliced cheeses for them to share. As they settled down eagerly in their seats, Leo opened a bottle of red wine, pouring out four equal glasses with a smile.

Steve relaxed with a happy sigh, feeling warm and content. The patio was looking beautiful, with flowers blooming on the wooden trellis, little ornaments scattered about, the scent of roses floating across from the garden. The sun was setting, and the heat from the day was finally dissipating into something cooler and less sticky. There was cheese. There was wine. There was good company in the form of Bucky, Jemma and Leo. What more could he want?

"Did you guys have a good day today?" said Leo, gesturing for them to help themselves to cheese.

Steve examined the plate, finding to his delight that a variety of cheeses were on offer. Either Jemma or Leo had helpfully labelled the appropriate areas of the plate with little hand-written stickers: brie, blue stilton, red Leicester, aged cheddar, camembert and parmesan. He picked up a cube of brie, placing it in his mouth, moaning as the flavour melted onto his tongue.

"Yeah, we went for a walk along the stream," said Bucky, smiling innocently. "We had a picnic under the willow tree near the edge of the village."

Steve choked slightly on his cheese, blushing as he remembered what _else_ they had done under the willow tree, hiding his embarrassment by choosing that moment to take a swig of wine. Bucky glanced over at him surreptitiously, a smirk curving his lips, well aware of the effect he had just had on Steve by bringing it up.

"Oh, it's lovely down there!" said Jemma. "Really nice and isolated. That must have been a lovely quiet place for a picnic."

Bucky, the little shit, grinned and nodded, shooting Steve a loaded glance.

"Yeah, we had a really fun time there," said Bucky. "Right, Steve?"

Steve forced himself not to look at Bucky, knowing that if he looked the other man in the face, he would not be able to resist the urge to burst into an explosive fit of giggles.

"Yeah, it was real good fun," said Steve, quite impressed by how steady his voice was. "And thank you so much for making that picnic for us, Jemma. It was amazing!"

Jemma blushed, smiling as she ducked her head shyly, fiddling with her sleeves. Immediately, Leo gazed at her adoringly, looking both proud of her for having made such a great picnic and totally besotted by her adorable coyness. Steve and Bucky exchanged glances, eyebrows raised, smiling and reaching for more cheese to hide their amusement.

From there, the conversation turned to other scenic walks around the area of Thornton-le-Dale. Steve learnt that Leo loved water and therefore enjoyed following the stream as far as he could go. He learnt, too, that Jemma adored botany and took great pleasure in simply walking around the village and admiring the flowers and plants in people's gardens. And he could not help but notice the way they looked at one another when the other was not looking: shy, eager, totally in love.

The conversation shifted again, turning to what their ideal homes would be like. Leo did not care particularly about how the outside looked, so long as he could kit out the inside with the latest gadgets and inventions. Jemma, on the other hand, would love some place like Buttercup Cottage: old and full of character. About an hour later, between the four of them, they had finished the cheese and were well on the way to finishing the wine, all of them a little tipsy and rosy-cheeked. Just then, Steve remembered the research he had done earlier that day about day trips, and turned to Jemma and Leo.

"Do you have any other ideas for day trips around here?" said Steve. "We loved Durham. I had a look online earlier but there's so much choice. Where else do you think we should go, while we're here?"

"Ooh... You should go to York!" said Jemma. "It's another beautiful old city, about 2,000 years old – so if you're interested in history, you'll love it there. There's these old cobbled streets and the Minster is a gorgeous cathedral. And there's cool shops!"

"Yeah, I think there's a board game cafe too," chipped in Leo, looking thoughtful. "I went to a tech convention a few years ago and then played board games all evening. It was cool."

Jemma giggled, teasing Leo for being a nerd, which Leo did not have any reasonable defence against, visibly floundering, looking to Steve and Bucky for back up, which was not forthcoming, since Leo 100% _was_ a nerd. Leo pouted, consoling himself with a large gulp of wine. Steve noticed the way Jemma's eyes followed the bob of his Adam's apple, a pink tinge colouring her cheeks as she bit her lip.

That was it. Steve could not take it anymore. He stood up, grabbing the empty plate that had contained the cheese, smiling as he gestured for Bucky to follow him.

"We'll wash this up and come back soon," said Steve. "Bucky, come help?"

Jemma and Leo looked surprised, but nevertheless let them go without comment. Steve led the way through the cottage until they reached the kitchen, sweeping the crumbs and the cheese labels into the bin and crossing over to the sink to wash the plate. Bucky followed him wordlessly, obviously curious as to what had come over him.

"What–" he began.

"We need to set up Jemma and Leo," said Steve. "They're so in love I actually can't stand it."

Bucky stared at him. Whatever he had been expecting, it apparently had not been this. Nevertheless, he nodded, on board with Steve's plan.

"Agreed," said Bucky. "For two geniuses, I don't understand how they haven't figured out the other one is in love with them yet."

Steve chewed his lip. It was a serious problem. He had never met two people so perfectly compatible with one another, who were so clueless about how to take the next step. It was something he might expect to encounter in one of the romance novels he edited at work, not in his actual real life.

"We need to help them," said Steve earnestly. "I say we get them talking, get them flirting, then leave."

Bucky nodded slowly. Steve washed the plate, handing it to Bucky to dry. Bucky dried it with a towel and opened up a few cupboards, finally finding the rest of the plates and stowing it away. Exchanging a determined glance, they headed back out to the patio, sliding back into their seats. Steve ran a finger along the rim of his wine glass, thinking hard. He needed to gently nudge the conversation towards Jemma and Leo's attraction to one another. He just needed to do so discreetly, in a way that would seem natural, without raising any eyebrows.

"You look really fucking gorgeous tonight, Jemma," said Bucky suddenly.

 _What...?_ Steve stared at him in horror, mortification and incredulity exploding in his gut. What the _actual fuck_ was Bucky doing? He aimed a kick at Bucky under the table, trying to get his attention, desperate to put a stop to whatever hairbrained plan Bucky had decided to set in motion. Across the table, Jemma looked surprised, whilst Leo looked as though he had just been punched in the face by someone wearing a "I hate Scotland" t-shirt.

"Don't you think Jemma looks beautiful, Leo?" continued Bucky.

 _Oh... OK, that could work._ All eyes turned to Leo, who had just turned an impressive shade of crimson, his eyes darting towards Jemma as if he had momentarily forgotten what she looked like.

"Uh... Yeah... You look nice tonight, Jemma," stammered Leo. "Not that you don't always look nice! Not that it matters... I mean, the most important part of a person is their brain. And you have an incredible brain. So, like... I'd still like you even if you were ugly. But you're not ugly! You're actually... really pretty. So, that's... nice..."

For a moment, everyone was too shocked to speak. Steve waited with bated breath for Jemma's reaction. Leo's speech – if it could be called that – had been so awkward that it had gone straight into cringeworthy territory, yet it had been so obviously honest and heartfelt that Steve could not think of anything he would change about it. Jemma's brown eyes were wide with shock, before they softened, a smile slowly spreading over her face as she gazed back at Leo adoringly.

"You think I'm pretty? I... Thanks, Fitz," she said. "I think you look really nice too."

Leo stared back at her in amazement, a wide grin breaking out on his face as he tentatively put his hand on hers.

Wordlessly, Steve and Bucky exchanged a triumphant glance and slid quietly from their seats. They gave Jemma and Leo a wave goodbye, before slipping back into the cottage, heading along the dark corridor and up the stairs to their floor. They waited until they were back inside Steve's room, well out of earshot, before finally letting out excited whoops and high fiving one another.

"Oh my God," said Steve. "Do you think they'll get together?"

"Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz?" said Bucky. "Come on, it's like the universe itself wants them to get married and double-barrel their surnames."

Steve cocked his head to one side, confused.

"Simmons-Fitz?" he said.

Bucky stared at him for a moment, before laughing, tackling him onto the bed. They splayed out next to one another, the mattress swaying gently beneath them.

"No, you moron," said Bucky. "Fitzsimmons!"

 _Oh..._ That did make a lot more sense. He smiled, wondering if perhaps one day they might actually end up as Mr. and Mrs. Fitzsimmons. It was certainly possible, and he felt proud to have been a part of potentially making it happen. God, no wonder he worked for a romance novel publishing house – he was a sickening romantic.

A little later, they stripped naked and snuggled tipsily in Steve's bed. Bucky's flaccid cock rested against the curve of Steve's ass, yet the contact was strangely non-sexual. Steve smiled in the darkness, content to feel the other man cuddling him from behind. He interlinked his fingers with Bucky's, holding them against his chest.

They fell asleep entwined together, a tangle of arms and legs, Bucky's hand resting gently on Steve's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/622098160498753536/hot-summer-nights-chapter-7-under-the-willow). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> BLACK WIDOW EASTER EGG: The eagle-eyed amongst you may have picked up on the significance of this line: "Steve waved at the screen, impressed by the effortless way Natasha was balancing upside down, like a spider hanging down from a web." This is, of course, a reference to the MCU Natasha's nickname: the Black Widow!
> 
> FITZSIMMONS: Are any Agents of SHIELD or Fitzsimmons fans reading this? If so, I hope you enjoyed the Fitzsimmons-iness of the last bit of this chapter! :D  
>    
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those sweeties who left such lovely comments on the last chapter <3 Hearing from you is the best kind of motivation possible.
> 
> THOUGHTS: I hope you're still enjoying this story! You were a little quiet on the last chapter, are you still there and liking this? Please let me know your thoughts and feelings in the comments section below! Things got rather risque in this chapter, didn't they? ;) Oh, to be a willow tree, what a view...
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will have more fluffy Stucky, with the boys getting to know one another on a deeper, more emotional level...
> 
> TUMBLR: I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Follow me for exclusive early previews of Hot Summer Nights chapters, and beautiful Marvel fanart re-blogs! <3


	8. The Rose Garden

The next morning, they got up, showered and headed down to breakfast. Steve's stomach rumbled loudly as the two of them made their way down the narrow wooden staircase. He was ravenous, his mouth already watering at the prospect of one of Leo's amazing signature cooked breakfasts. No sooner had they emerged in the downstairs corridor, however, than Steve heard a strange noise coming from nearby.

"Pssst!"

Steve stopped, frowning, holding up a hand to get Bucky's attention. They stopped. Steve stood stock still, trying to work out what he had just heard and where the sound had come from.

"Pssst! In here!" whispered a voice.

Steve turned in the direction of the voice, finding to his amazement the kitchen door open just a crack, Leo's left eye visible as he stared at them beseechingly from inside, beckoning them over with a crook of his pale finger. Steve and Bucky exchanged astonished glances, before heading over to the kitchen and slipping inside. Leo shut the door behind them, before turning to face them, a look of total panic on his features.

"Hey, what's up?" said Steve, concerned.

"Wait... Is this to do with last night?" said Bucky. "How did things go with Jemma, after we left?"

Leo urgently flapped his hands at them to be quiet, his eyes visibly widening with fear at the mention of Jemma's name. His eyes darted around the kitchen, as if he half-expected her to pop up from under the table or behind the fridge.

"Keep your voices down!" he hissed. "I need... I need your advice."

Steve and Bucky exchanged surprised glances, nevertheless nodding for Leo to continue. When he did not, Steve stepped in kindly, ushering the conversation on to help Leo get to the point.

"So, how did things go with Jemma last night?" said Steve. "Did things... go wrong?"

Leo looked baffled for a moment, before shaking his head.

"What? No! Things went great!" he said. "We talked until midnight and, uh, held hands."

The way Leo's cheeks went pink at the last part could not help but cause Steve's lips to quirk up in a little smile. The Scotsman was adorable. Nevertheless, his answer made their impromptu secret kitchen meeting all the more puzzling.

"So, like, what's the problem?" said Steve. "It sounds like things went really well."

Leo ran a hand through his frazzled curly hair, his knuckles white was stress.

"Yeah, but that was _last night!_ " said Leo. "I don't know what to do _now!_ Are we dating? I don't know! Does Jemma expect me to be all... boyfriend-y, now? How do relationships work?!"

Leo looked so flustered that Steve could not help but feel sorry for him. For a genius, Leo really was clueless when it came to love. Steve briefly wondered if he had ever had a girlfriend before, but decided not to ask. It was best not to embarrass him any more than he already was.

"Have you asked Jemma what she wants, moving forward?" said Bucky.

Leo visibly balked, looking in equal parts horrified and appalled at Bucky's suggestion.

"I've just realised I'm in love with my best friend," he scoffed. "Of course, I've not _asked_ her!"

"Maybe you should," said Steve kindly. "She seems to like you. How about you just ask her out for a dinner date? See what she says."

Leo pondered Steve's suggestion silently, chewing on his lip. His fingers were fiddling uncomfortably with the hem of his shirt. With visible effort, Leo pulled himself out of his thoughts, looking up at Steve and Bucky with a confused, slightly lost expression on his face. He was clearly out of his depth, more stumped by the prospect of asking Jemma out on a date than the task of inventing complex technical gadgets.

"Should I... Should I bake her a cake?" said Leo, uncertainly. "Is that a romantic thing to do?"

Of all the things Steve had expected him to say, it had not been that.

"Uhh..." said Bucky, apparently just as thrown off by Leo's unexpected suggestion as Steve was. "Do you like baking?"

Leo shook his head passionately, his curls bouncing around on top of his head.

"No, I hate it!" he said. "I'm terrible at it!"

Steve's lips quirked up with a smile. That Leo was willing to bake a cake for Jemma if it would make her happy – despite hating baking with a passion – was strangely endearing.

"Listen... You don't need to bake a cake to make Jemma like you," said Bucky. "She already does."

At that, Leo smiled tentatively, his cheeks flushing pink in a way that Steve had learnt meant he was thinking about Jemma.

"Yeah, don't stress about it," said Steve, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Just be yourself and–"

Before he could get any further, the kitchen door opened and Jemma walked in, looking surprised to see the three of them huddled there together in a tight circle.

"What's going on in here?" she said.

Leo immediately went red, his mouth opening and closing as he floundered for a reasonable excuse to explain their suspicious behaviour. Luckily, Bucky stepped in, turning on a bright smile and rescuing Leo from his panic.

"We were just talking about breakfast," said Bucky, before turning to Leo with a wink. "Two full English breakfasts, yeah? One tea, one coffee."

Leo nodded, looking immensely thankful for Bucky's intervention, before busying himself with grabbing together the ingredients for breakfast. Giving Jemma a polite nod as they passed, Steve and Bucky slipped out of the kitchen, heading down the corridor to the dining room, smiling to themselves, feeling strangely as though they had just gotten away with something.

They took their seats at their favourite table by the window, sitting opposite one another, gazing out at the beautiful wildflowers in the front garden.

Under the table, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Bucky rested his hand on Steve's knee.

Steve's stomach swooped with butterflies.

* * *

After a leisurely breakfast, they went out for a stroll through Thornton-le-Dale.

It was yet another hot day, so they wandered slowly, no destination in mind, simply enjoying the village for what it was: quaint, serene, idyllic. They passed the village green, the pubs and cafes, and eventually found themselves walking towards the outskirts. Steve remembered the last time they had come this way. They had found the wood at the top of the hill, and a little beyond that, Harker's Point. He remembered the local legend of old Mr. Harker, and found himself feeling strangely drawn to the location. He wondered if the spirit of Mr. Harker was still up there, on the plateau, waiting to provide help to the next lost soul who went up there seeking guidance.

"Do you want to go to Harker's Point again?" said Steve. "I'm kind of feeling it."

Bucky nodded, looking pleased with Steve's idea. It did not take them long to reach the edge of the village, and from there, they clambered over the old wooden stile that led to the field below the wood. The ground was as hard and cracked as ever from the lack of rain, the dirt bleached pale by the sun. They took a moment to drink some water, letting the cool liquid soothe their parched throats, before slowly making their way up the path that ran alongside the field, sweat prickling the backs of their necks as the sun beat down on them from above. They paced themselves, in no rush, knowing this time the steepness of the climb and spending their energy more resourcefully.

About quarter of an hour later, they got to the top of the hill, sighing with relief as they entered the shade of the trees. They quickly found the little trail that led along the outskirts of the wood, following it along until they reached Harker's Point, the sudden beautiful view taking their breath away just as effectively as it had done the first time. For a while, they simply stood and gazed out at the gorgeous view, absorbing the tranquil panorama, feeling a sense of peace settling over them. Eventually, they got tired of standing and walked over to the old tree stump, sitting down on the ground and leaning against it as they took in the magnificent view.

From here, Steve could see for miles around. He could feel a smile forming on his face as he gazed out at the simple beauty of it all: the patchwork fields, the hedgerows, the terracotta roof tiles of the houses of Thornton-le-Dale. It was stunning. He leaned back against the tree stump, letting it all wash over him, absorbing the moment.

He thought about the legend of Harker's Point. He wondered if any of the story were true: Angela, accused of being a witch; her kindly grandfather, who helped her to escape and paid the ultimate price; the villagers, tormented by famine and infertility until they apologised for Mr. Harker's death and atoned for their sins. It did not matter, in the end, he supposed. It was not the accuracy of the story that was important; it was the message it carried and the way it had shaped the villagers' lives ever since, passed down through the generations, father to son, mother to daughter. He wondered how many villagers had come up to Harker's Point seeking solace in times of hardship, and it was that that brought a smile to his face and a sense of peace to his heart.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a bumblebee floating lazily about a foot away from his face and waved his hand at it casually, attempting to waft it away. Bucky caught sight of the motion and cocked his head inquisitively, not having seen the insect.

"Just a bee," explained Steve.

Bucky's reaction was not what Steve expected. His face paled, his eyes widening with fear as he visibly jerked away from the bumblebee, his knees drawing up to his chest as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. To his visible horror, the bumblebee flew towards him, before landing on Bucky's nose, its fuzzy little body perched on the warm skin.

"Oh my God, oh my God," moaned Bucky, his voice tight and trembling. "No, no, no... Steve, get it off. _Get it off!_ "

Steve did not move towards the bee, not wanting to startle it and cause it to sting Bucky. Slowly, he reached out and slipped his hand into Bucky's, letting the other man grip him tightly, his hand slick and clammy with sweat. Steve could feel that Bucky was shaking with fear, and gave his hand a long, slow squeeze.

"Don't move," said Steve. "It'll fly away once it's ready. Just stay calm."

Bucky gave a desperate little squeak in reply, but thankfully obeyed, not making any sudden movements that could startle the bumblebee.

"Take deep, steady breaths," said Steve, making his tone as soothing and calm as possible. "This'll be over soon, OK? It won't stay there forever, and it won't hurt you so long as it doesn't feel threatened."

Bucky made a small noise in his throat that could have been an affirmative hum, not daring to nod his head or open his mouth to speak. Steve felt desperately sorry for him. Bucky obviously had a big fear of bees. He could not imagine the panic Bucky must be feeling to have one perched on the end of his nose.

"Everything's going to be fine," said Steve, rubbing his thumb soothingly across the back of Bucky's hand. "You're doing great. Really great. Just stay calm. You're doing an awesome job."

Another tight little hum from Bucky's throat. Steve noted that Bucky had stopped trembling, at least, which he took to be a good sign.

"I'm so proud of how brave you're being," continued Steve. "You're doing such a good job of keeping still. Everything's going to be alright. You– Oh!"

Apparently bored of its perch, the bumblebee flew off Bucky's nose, floating over to a nearby patch of wildflowers and busying itself collecting nectar. Bucky let out a massive groan of relief, his limbs flopping in all directions as he slumped against the tree stump, as if all the energy had been drained from him at once, sweat pouring down his face.

"Oh, Jesus," said Bucky. "Oh, thank fuck it's gone."

Steve smiled, giving Bucky's hand one more squeeze for good measure, before letting go. Now that the imminent threat of the bee was gone and Bucky was returning back to normal, he cocked an eyebrow, hoping to defuse the strained atmosphere with some humour.

"So... do I detect that you might be scared of bees?" he said.

Bucky turned to look him straight in the eye, all traces of fear gone as he pointed a firm finger at Steve.

"Not a word!" said Bucky.

They laughed, the tension breaking and the old sense of relaxed peacefulness settling over them once more. Bucky's head ended up resting on Steve's shoulder as they sat side by side against the tree stump, looking out from the plateau. After a while, Bucky shifted, his hand finding Steve's and interlinking their fingers.

"What's your greatest fear?" asked Bucky.

Steve nibbled on his bottom lip, pondering the question carefully. The obvious answer that came to mind was his fear of flying, but somehow it did not feel right to label that as his "greatest" fear. He was extremely fearful of aeroplanes, of course, but he knew that flying was a temporary experience. The fear passed as soon as the flight was over, lasting only hours in duration. They were terrible hours, yes, but they were mere hours, nonetheless. The fear was temporary, transient. Somehow, that did not frighten him on a deep level, right down to his soul.

No, permanence was a much greater fear. An idea started to form in his mind, and as soon as it solidified, he knew he had found his greatest terror.

"What if," said Steve.

Bucky frowned with confusion, not following.

"Huh?"

Steve licked his lips, struggling to put his thoughts into words.

"My greatest fear is to make a wrong decision and then spend the rest of my life thinking _what if_?" he said. "What if I'd made the other choice? What if I'd taken that chance? What if I'd been braver and taken that leap of faith?"

Bucky nodded slowly, comprehension dawning. For a moment, he looked as though he were going to say something, but then he pursed his lips, giving his head a little shake.

"Now I feel kind of lame for saying _bees_ ," he said.

Steve burst out laughing. He jostled Bucky playfully.

Above them, a dove flew overhead, looking down at the two of them leaning against the old tree trunk, high up on Harker's Point.

* * *

That evening, after a delicious pub dinner at The Leaky Boot, they headed back to Buttercup Cottage.

They walked slowly, enjoying the way the setting sun was painting the sky with dramatic streaks of gold and pink. The scorching temperatures were slowly cooling down to something more bearable, and they were in good spirits. As they turned down the street containing Buttercup Cottage, they spotted Jemma and Leo strolling out of the front door and down the narrow little garden path. They stepped out onto the pavement, smiling when they saw Steve and Bucky approaching.

"Oh, hey guys!" said Jemma. "We're just going out for dinner. You'll be OK by yourselves for a few hours, right?"

Steve did not answer immediately, too thrilled by the sight in front of him to properly form words. Jemma and Leo were _holding hands_. Apparently, Leo had plucked up the courage to ask Jemma out on a dinner date. Jemma's face was radiant with happiness, and Leo was grinning unashamedly, visibly giddy with disbelief that they were finally going on a date. Steve wanted to jump for joy and give them both bone-crushing hugs for finally getting their shit together and going out on their first date, but swallowed back his enthusiasm, settling instead for a more socially acceptable smile and a nod.

"Yep, don't worry about us, we'll be fine," he said. "Enjoy your evening out."

"Yeah, have fun!" said Bucky. "Stay out as long as you want. We promise not to accidentally destroy the place while you're gone."

Jemma and Leo smiled, giving them a little wave and a mock salute respectively, before heading off in the direction of the village centre. Steve and Bucky watched them for a few moments, both of them enthralled by the adorable sight of them holding hands. As soon as they were out of earshot, Bucky let out a sugary cooing sound, as if someone had just shown him a fluffy pile of kittens.

"Aww, young love!" gushed Bucky. "First dates! It almost makes me want to read one of those soppy romance novels your company publishes."

Steve's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Really?" he said.

Bucky snorted, giving him a good-natured nudge in the ribs.

"Nah, I still prefer my action thrillers," said Bucky. "But you've got to admit: those two are kind of adorable."

Steve smiled and nodded. It was true. Jemma and Leo were far too cute together _not_ to be a couple. Even their surnames went together. It was almost like fate itself wanted them to be together.

Steve and Bucky headed up the garden path and into the cottage, before going up to their rooms to dump their things and change into something more casual. Steve changed into a loose t-shirt and soft shorts, using the bathroom whilst he was there, before locking up and heading to Bucky's room, tapping gently on his bedroom door. Bucky answered a few seconds later, also changed into more casual attire, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

"Wanna hang out in the back garden for a bit?" said Steve.

Bucky smiled around his toothbrush and nodded.

"Gi' me a sec'n'," mumbled Bucky, some minty toothpaste dribbling down his chin.

Steve smirked and nodded, waiting patiently for Bucky to finish brushing his teeth and get ready. A short while later, they headed out of the cottage, over the patio and into the back garden, making their way down the winding grass path to the bottom, where white roses bloomed. It was where they had first met, and for some inexplicable reason, the realisation made Steve's stomach swoop. They lay down side-by-side on the grass, enjoying the sweet scent of the rose garden as they gazed up at the sky.

The sun was setting, the sky going from dusky gold, to powdery blue, before slowly darkening into navy. Steve's hand found Bucky's and held it gently, enjoying the feeling of the other man's warmth on his skin, as the air around them slowly cooled as night fell.

Night brought its own form of beauty. As the last spindly fingers of sunlight relinquished their hold on the sky, the Milky Way slowly became visible. Steve gasped as the great sweeping arm of stars took shape, like someone had taken a paintbrush covered in silver pin pricks and drawn it across the cosmos. He had never seen such a clear sky before. In Boston, it would be nigh-on impossible to see the Milky Way, the bright lights of the city drowning out nature's more delicate ones. The light pollution in Thornton-le-Dale, however, was practically non-existent, allowing nature's true beauty to shine.

Beside him, he could hear Bucky's slow, deep breathing. The rhythm of it soothed him, making him smile for reasons he could not fully put into words. Somewhere nearby in the flowerbed, a cricket was chirping; the sound of summer. An owl hooted in the distance, followed shortly by the soft flap of wings. Steve wondered if it had caught a mouse.

Steve and Bucky lay there silently, letting the sounds and sights of the night wash over them. It was a strangely visceral, almost spiritual, experience. It felt as though they were bearing witness to something much bigger and more important than themselves. It was a privilege to be able to lie there – to see and hear the night come to life around them – not interrupting, not taking part, but witnessing it, experiencing it, this little slice of the world that they got to live in, just for a few weeks, apart from their everyday lives.

"Tell me something about you," said Bucky suddenly.

The question took Steve slightly by surprise. He turned his head towards Bucky, just managing to make out his profile in the darkness. The other man was lying flat on his back, staring up into the sky, his hand still warm and solid within his own.

"Hmm? What do you want to know?" said Steve.

Bucky shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. "Anything. Like, what's on your bucket list? What kind of thing do you want to do in the future?"

Steve turned back to look up at the sky, pondering the question. His eyes lingered on the arm of the Milky Way, his gaze tracing the shape of the stars and committing them to memory.

"I guess I want to go on a road trip around the US, at some point," said Steve. "See the Grand Canyon, Yosemite National Park, that kind of thing. Is that too cliché?"

Bucky gave his hand a warm squeeze.

"Not at all," he said. "I think that sounds awesome. Throw in a beach and I'm in."

Steve smiled. Bucky was joking, of course, but nevertheless, something about it warmed him on the inside.

"What about you?" said Steve. "What do you want to do, in the future?"

Bucky was silent for a while, thinking about it. A dark shape swooped over them, possibly the owl that Steve had heard earlier.

"One day, I'd love to switch careers," Bucky said finally. "I currently work as a website developer, but it's not really my passion. I'd love to do something more creative – like be a musician or a writer or something."

Steve hummed with interest. It struck him that he had never asked about Bucky's work before. He had not really known what to expect, but he had not really imagined him as a website developer. He could much better imagine him as some kind of creative artist, whether that be through music, words or visuals. It felt much more genuine to the Bucky he knew, much more suited to his personality.

"What experience has shaped you the most as a person?" said Bucky.

Wow. Bucky really was not holding back with asking the real questions. Now that the dam had been breached, it was as if he were hungry to know Steve's mind, curiosity making him brave. It made Steve's heart flutter. Somehow, sharing these personal details of their lives felt more intimate than when they had sex.

"It's not really one single experience, but does being gay count?" said Steve. "I'm white, I'm cis, I'm male, I've never lived in poverty; I have a lot of privilege. Being gay has meant I've known what it's like not to be part of a dominant group. I know what it's like to be pre-judged. I know it's not the same as being any other kind of minority, but I like to think it's made me kinder. Maybe more empathetic, more attuned to other people's struggles, more willing to stand up for what's right. I don't know. Does that make sense? I don't know if I'm explaining it very well..."

"I get it," said Bucky. "I feel like that, too, I guess."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Steve felt a bug crawling on his leg and gently brushed it off.

"What about you?" said Steve.

Bucky paused, considering it.

"When my little sister Becca was younger, she ended up in hospital with pneumonia," he said quietly. "I'll never forget it. We thought she was going to die. I've never been so scared. She got better, but after that, I've always been really protective of my family and friends."

Steve's eyes widened in the darkness. He could not imagine anything more terrifying than one's family, especially if they were younger, being in mortal danger. No wonder it had affected Bucky so deeply. He could totally see him as a protective older brother, willing to do anything and everything to help his loved ones. He hoped he had not brought back painful memories for Bucky by bringing it up.

"What are you thinking right now?" said Steve. "Are you alright?"

Bucky's hand left his, only to be placed a second later on the side of Steve's face, cupping his cheek. He rolled over so that he was lying on his side, pressed against Steve, propped up slightly on his elbow, hovering over him.

"I'm thinking time is too short," said Bucky. "We shouldn't waste it."

Steve could smell the minty freshness of Bucky's toothpaste, could see the shape of his head blocking out the sky above him. He was suddenly very aware of the proximity of the other man's body, a hard line of warmth pressed against him, all along his side.

"I'm thinking I want to kiss you now," whispered Steve.

A moment later, minty freshness invaded his mouth, making his lips tingle. He swept his tongue against Bucky's, tasting him, closing his eyes when Bucky deepened the kiss, rolling his hips against him. He brought up a hand, placing it against Bucky's chest, massaging the hard muscle, rubbing against the hardening nub of a nipple. They made out for a while, before finally separating, a little breathless, returning to their prior positions lying next to one another.

"What are you most thankful for?" Bucky asked, a little while later.

"Hmm..." said Steve. "I guess I'm most thankful for my health? I don't have to battle against a crappy body. That's definitely something a lot of us take for granted."

He felt, rather than saw, Bucky nod in agreement beside him. For a while, both of them were silent.

Finally, Bucky spoke up again, his tone strained with something Steve could not quite place.

"I'm thankful for choosing this random little cottage, out of everywhere I could have gone," said Bucky.

His hand reached out and clasped Steve's in the darkness, gentle and slow, almost cautious.

"Why?" said Steve.

For a moment, silence. And then, quietly:

"Because it meant I met you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/622728736594329600/hot-summer-nights-chapter-8-the-rose-garden). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> WHAT MUSIC INSPIRED THIS STORY? I heard a beautiful song last year which planted the seeds of this story in my mind. If you want to know what that song is, I revealed it [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/622193043160891392/dear-lovely-readers-presenting-the-song-that) on my Tumblr last week!
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to ALL of you who are following this story! And an extra special thank you to those amazing readers who take time to leave comments, leave kudos, and who even recommended this story to the Stucky Library this morning! You are the most supportive and kind readers I could wish for <3
> 
> THOUGHTS: This chapter was shorter than usual and didn't even include any sexy times, but I hope you enjoyed it, nonetheless! They certainly got intimate, even though they did not remove their clothes. As always, I crave your reactions, so please let me know your thoughts and feelings in the comments section below :D
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see them go on a day trip to the nearby city of York!
> 
> TUMBLR: Are you on Tumblr? ME TOO! Feel free to give me a follow or say hi over there. I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/).


	9. York

The next morning, Steve and Bucky both woke with a severe case of wanderlust. As much as they loved the little village of Thornton-le-Dale, they were itching to go and explore further afield, to see more of the surrounding area, to make the most of their holiday.

As they pondered where they wanted to go over breakfast, Steve remembered what Jemma had said two nights before, when the four of them had enjoyed wine and cheese together on the patio. She had suggested that they visit the nearby city of York, famous for its history and quaint old town vibe. One wolfed-down breakfast and a quick internet search later, they were looking up the bus timetable to York on their phones, excited for another day trip to a new location.

They waved goodbye to Jemma and Leo in the reception booth, heading out of the front door and making their way along the quiet streets of Thornton-le-Dale to the bus stop near the village green. They did not have long to wait. The 840 bus trundled along around ten minutes later, the old vehicle screeching to a halt when Steve stuck out his arm to signal they wanted to get on. They climbed aboard, paid for their tickets, and sat down together near the back, their thighs pressing against one another in the cramped seats.

Their feeling of excitement only grew as the bus pulled off and began its journey through the countryside. They looked out of the window to watch the scenery whiz by, enjoying the hills, the fields, the woods, the pretty little villages that they passed through. The bus was hot, but not unbearably so, as they were mercifully seated near a window that was open at the top, a strong breeze rushing in and cooling them as the bus raced along the road. They spent the journey watching the changing landscape outside the window, chatting and exchanging quips whenever they saw something unusual or amusing out of the window. At one point, Steve could have sworn they passed a herd of llamas, but before he could register what he had seen, the field was gone in a flash of green and brown, to be replaced by another, and another, and another.

They arrived at York around one hour and twenty minutes after setting off from Thornton-le-Dale, both of them relieved to be able to get off the bus and stretch their legs after so long spent sitting down. They said "thank you" to the bus driver as they got off, stepping out onto the busy pavement in York city centre. The volume of people struck Steve immediately. He had got so used to the quiet sleepiness of the tiny village of Thornton-le-Dale that it was a shock to the system to suddenly be back in a city – even a small one like York.

They began walking in the direction that the majority of people seemed to be heading, gazing around in delight at the mix of old and new. York was a historic city – literally several thousands of years old – and some of the buildings were visibly from many hundreds of years in the past. However, intriguingly, it was not a dead city. It was thriving, vibrant, with modern businesses filling the old buildings, and shoppers laden with bags bustling down the pavement, along with groups of friends and families just out to relax and socialise.

They wandered along, happily absorbing the quirky vibe, delighting in the eclectic mix of old and new, until they came upon what looked like the city walls. Steve remembered reading about them earlier. The walls were incredibly old – originally built by the Romans two thousand years before, and then refreshed by the Danes in the thirteenth century. They were built from solid white stone, around four metres tall and two metres thick. The walls encircled much of the city centre, striking and impressive. They had originally been built as a defence, keeping the city safe from outside attack. Nowadays, they offered a unique perspective from which to walk around the city; on the inner side of the walls was a raised footpath.

Steve and Bucky saw a flight of stone stairs leading up to the footpath on the wall and exchanged looks, immediately grinning as they nodded in unison and began to climb the stone steps. They reached the top, finding to their delight that they had a marvellous view from both sides. They began to walk along the stone slabs of the ancient footpath, peering out at the city from the battlements. As they walked, Steve could not help but imagine what it must have been like, all those years before, to have defended York from these very city walls, a cacophony of sound and chaos, the twang and thunk of bows and arrows flying everywhere.

The walls were beautifully preserved. The white stone was sturdy and well-maintained. The footpath was wide enough for them not to have to worry about falling off onto the grassy bank below, providing a perspective of the city that would be impossible to get otherwise. They walked along, totally enamoured as they gazed out at the chimney pots of houses, and down at the little parks, and across at the branches of nearby trees, where squirrels were chasing one another along the bark. Occasionally, they came upon gatehouses: structures that once upon a time were used to control horse-drawn traffic and extract tolls, and nowadays were preserved as an ode to history.

They slowly made their way along the walls, encircling the city centre. They occasionally stopped to take a few pictures, or to simply bask in the moment and absorb it in all its stunning glory. The wall sometimes went right past the backs of people's houses, allowing them to peek into their back gardens, little islands of people's lives with flowers and laundry and garden furniture. They could see out over the rooftops, tiles of terracotta and grey intermixed with old chimneys. After maybe an hour of stopping and starting their way along the city walls, a huge Gothic cathedral came into view, its majestic white towers taking their breath away.

The cathedral – Jemma had said it was called the Minster – was beautiful. It was built from the same creamy white stone as the city walls, with stained glass windows and intricately carved masonry. It rose from the landscape like a giant, by far the tallest thing for many miles around, rising high like an angel had elevated it with a flap of its wings. Even Steve, who was not a religious man, found himself moved by the stunning Gothic architecture. It had an otherworldly, ethereal quality to it. His artistic eye was spellbound by it. They stopped for a while, enthralled by the sight of the Minster, taking a moment to give it their full attention and appreciate its beauty.

Eventually, they moved on, finally coming to the end of the city walls soon after. They walked down a flight of stone steps to re-join the pavement at ground level, seeing a road sign that told them they were on a street called High Petergate. Steve smiled. He liked English street names. They were charming, often making him wonder about the history behind them. Who had Peter been, and why was this road named after him? They wandered down High Petergate, peering into some of the shops and pubs as they passed, before eventually emerging into a large square flanked by the Minster itself. The cathedral doors were open. Steve felt his artistic muse stir with curiosity. He would probably never come back to York. Not to go inside its famed Gothic cathedral would be a great waste.

"Do you want to go inside?" asked Steve. "I love architecture."

Bucky shrugged and nodded. They headed in through the large wooden doors, stepping into the Minster. Steve gasped softly at the incredible view. The inside of the Minster was the same pale creamy white as the outside, with a high vaulted ceiling around one hundred feet above them. The stained-glass windows were intricate and vibrant in colour. York Minster had a very different ambience to Durham Cathedral – larger, lighter, more airy. Steve walked around in delight, admiring the art, the architecture, the designs on the stained-glass windows. Bucky followed him good humouredly, grinning at Steve's geeky enthusiasm.

"Hey Steve," said Bucky, after a while. "Do I look like an angel?"

Steve turned to see Bucky copying the pose of an angel in a nearby stained-glass window. Steve looked around self-consciously, immediately blushing at Bucky's ridiculous stance. He flapped his hand for Bucky to cut it out. Was this blasphemy? It felt pretty close. An elderly couple nearby were looking at Bucky with distaste.

"How about now?" continued Bucky, adopting the pose of a Virgin Mary statue, "Or now?" putting a finger in his mouth and nibbling on it coquettishly.

Steve groaned, fervently hoping he was not about to pop a boner in a house of God as Bucky began sucking (not so) innocently on his finger.

"Bucky..." he said weakly. "This is a church. Behave, please?"

Bucky laughed, letting his finger slip from his mouth with a faint pop.

"Relax, I'm messing with you," said Bucky. "You're such a goody two-shoes."

They explored the rest of the Minster with Bucky (mostly) behaving himself, and once Steve had looked around at the art and architecture to his heart's content, they exited the cathedral, emerging out of the doors into the bright sunlight. Steve squinted against the glare, momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the light. A kiss to his cheek caught him by surprise. He turned to see Bucky giving him a smile.

"What was that for?" said Steve.

"Do I need a reason?" shrugged Bucky. "You looked cute."

Steve ducked his head, a blush colouring his cheeks as he gave Bucky a playful shove. Rather than navigate the emotional minefield of coming up with an appropriate response, he instead pointed in the direction of a narrow little street they had not yet explored.

"Shall we go that way?" he said.

"Sure," said Bucky.

They headed down the narrow street, old stone slabs smooth beneath their feet. The area seemed to be pedestrianised, as people were wandering freely along the middle of the small road. Steve and Bucky took their time exploring the little criss-crossing streets, getting lost in a maze of twisting pathways. Some of the streets were cobbled, giving them that old-fashioned vibe that Steve was slowly falling in love with. The narrow streets were lined with old buildings filled with various businesses: independent shops, restaurants, cafes.

They entered a few of the shops, finding handmade trinkets and ornaments for sale. Steve pondered over whether to buy a fridge magnet. Bucky called him a grandpa, but nevertheless encouraged him to buy one, if it was what he wanted. In the end, Steve got the fridge magnet, and Bucky got a kiss.

They continued wandering around the maze of narrow cobbled streets, walking aimlessly. Steve looked around as they walked, people watching. He felt a smile slowly stretching his face as he watched the pedestrians stream by: old and young, male and female, some in a hurry, some taking it slow. These people formed the pulse of this beautiful city. They were its beating heart.

Eventually, they stumbled across a large outdoor market. Bucky let out an excited noise as he began to pull Steve around the various stands. There were fruit stalls, vegetable stalls, hot food stalls, stalls that sold bags and clothes, watch and phone repair stalls, and stalls showcasing handmade jewellery, art and other little trinkets. Locals and tourists alike were bustling around the lively open-air market, giving the place a busy, exciting ambience. Steve and Bucky joined the throng, wandering around the stalls, fascinated by this authentic look into York life.

They came upon a pancake stand. They were thin, British-style pancakes – more like what Steve and Bucky would consider a crepe than an American-style pancake – with various options for fillings. Steve immediately felt himself begin to salivate, his stomach growling as the delicious aroma of pancakes wafted over him. Was it lunchtime yet? Breakfast felt like aeons ago. One look at Bucky's equally hungry face settled the matter. It did not matter what time their watches said; their stomachs declared it lunchtime.

"Hmm... Sweet or savoury?" Bucky pondered out loud.

"Sweet," said Steve, slightly shocked that Bucky would even consider a savoury pancake when sweet options were available. " _Obviously_."

Bucky gave him a death glare, before turning to the man running the pancake stall, instantly putting on the charm for the bemused vendor.

"What would you recommend?" asked Bucky. "For two _sweet_ guys like ourselves."

The pancake man tactfully ignored the last part, possibly too weirded out to think of an appropriate reply, gesturing behind him at the menu.

"Banana and chocolate sauce is popular today," he said. "Strawberry and chocolate sauce is doing pretty well too."

"I'll have a strawberry and chocolate, please!" said Bucky.

"Banana and chocolate for me," added Steve.

The pancake man smiled and nodded, getting their pancakes prepared. Leaning close to Steve, so that the vendor would not hear them, Bucky whispered huskily in his ear.

"You love bananas, huh?"

Steve choked on his breath, fighting for composure as he tried not to let Bucky's suggestive words get him flustered in public.

"You're the one with a food fetish," Steve whispered back. "Remember _sushi_?"

Bucky snorted with laughter, before recomposing himself and handing over the money as the vendor passed over their pancakes. Steve took his with a smile, his mouth watering as he looked down to see slices of banana coated in chocolate sauce, all wrapped up like a burrito with a warm, thin British-style pancake. The smell was amazing. He took a bite, immediately moaning as the sweet, delicious flavours exploded on his tongue.

They ate their pancakes as they wandered around the rest of the market, having a taste of one another's too, for variety's sake. The strawberry in Bucky's pancake felt fresher, but Steve preferred his banana version; it felt more indulgent, more filling, more like a holiday treat. Eventually, they finished their pancakes, helping one another to wipe off the inevitable chocolate sauce from their lips. Steve did not quite manage to properly rub off some chocolate sauce from the edge of his mouth, and after several failed attempts to follow Bucky's instructions of "Up a bit... left a bit... no, not that far left!", Bucky simply leaned in and licked it off firmly. Steve blinked, taken aback by Bucky's direct approach, before grinning; it was impossible not to smile when one received a kiss (of sorts) from Bucky.

They headed along another old-looking path, before emerging at the top of a narrow, cobbled street that looked like it was Diagon Alley, plucked straight from a Harry Potter book. Steve caught sight of the street name and laughed incredulously, his eyes boggling with shock.

"The Shambles," giggled Steve.

"Huh?" said Bucky.

Steve pointed at the ridiculous street sign.

"This street is called _The Shambles_ ," he said.

Bucky laughed, pulling out his phone to snap a picture of it. They walked down The Shambles, marvelling at the old Tudor buildings, with dark wooden beams in the lighter-coloured walls. The street was extremely narrow, with parts of the buildings overhanging onto the pavements. It gave the place a cosy, intimate, slightly chaotic feel. Steve could not stop smiling as they walked along. It was uniquely beautiful. He stopped briefly to take a picture, both for his own sake and so that he could show Natasha later. She would not believe it.

At last, they exited The Shambles, when Steve saw an even more crazy street sign. He rubbed his eyes, not sure if he was seeing it correctly, before pointing it out to Bucky, whose eyes bulged when he read the street name.

"Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate?" said Bucky incredulously. "They're just making this shit up now."

Steve laughed, snapping another picture of the street sign bearing the name Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate, before taking Bucky's hand on a whim, bringing it up to his mouth to plant a kiss there. They continued walking, eventually finding themselves in an area with buskers performing at regular intervals. They wandered along, watching the street performers. There was a wonderful variety of acts: musicians, magicians, dance troupes, singers. Steve loved the creative vibe, closing his eyes and swaying to the beat of one band that was recreating pop songs on classical orchestral instruments. It was a perfect reflection of York, that blend of old and new.

After a while, they moved on again, walking until they stumbled upon a large park. A sign at the park entrance said it was called the Museum Gardens. They headed in through the large iron gates, immediately engulfed in a more calm, tranquil vibe. The sound of traffic seemed to fall away as they wandered deeper and deeper into the park, an oasis of calm in the middle of the city. Steve and Bucky held hands as they wandered along the path, delighting in looking around at the rich diversity of flowers, as well as large swathes of grass where people were welcome to walk and sit down. Many groups of people were sat on the grass, enjoying the sunshine – some of them sunbathing, others having picnics, others playing sport, or simply sitting and chatting with friends.

Towards the back of the park, they came upon the ruins of an abbey. They stopped and gazed at this unexpected sight: a relic from the past that the locals were not even giving a second glance, so used were they to living amongst history. Steve walked across the grass, laying a palm against the ruined abbey wall, the pale stone cool against his hand. Bucky joined him, looking up at the gaps in the wall where the windows once must have been, now just gaping holes.

"What the hell happened to this place?" said Bucky.

Steve shook his head, in awe of the tragic beauty of the ruins.

"I don't know," he said.

They sat down for a while on the grass by the ruined abbey, taking their time in resting their feet. They talked between themselves, lost in the beauty of their surroundings. At one point, Bucky laid down on the grass, patting the ground beside him in invitation. Steve stretched out next to Bucky, propping himself up on his elbow as he gazed down at the beautiful man lying beside him. Bucky looked gorgeous like this, relaxed and carefree, grass tickling his neck. Steve leaned over and planted soft kisses against his lips, tasting the ghost of his strawberry and chocolate sauce pancake, mixed with the now familiar taste of Bucky himself, lush and intoxicating.

They kissed for a long while, exploring one another's mouths under the warm sunshine, their lips slick, their beards scratching. Bucky's hand came up and cupped Steve's face, before running through his blonde hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and causing Steve to close his eyes, a moan escaping his lips at how good it felt. Steve put a hand on Bucky's thigh, squeezing the muscle slowly, deliberately provocative without being outwardly obscene. _Remember what happened last time we made out in public, under the willow tree?_ thought Steve. Bucky seemed to understand what Steve was thinking, because a smirk formed on his lips, those deep blue eyes lighting up with mirth and arousal.

Eventually, their muscles protested at their prolonged awkward position on the grass, forcing them back to their feet. They explored a little more of the park, before emerging out of a back entrance, finding themselves back near High Petergate. Steve blinked, his mental map thrown off kilter. He had not realised they had essentially walked in one huge circle around town. Now, though, he saw something that he had not noticed before. They were standing next to an art gallery, his inner art geek immediately perking up in interest. Bucky must have seen the wistful expression that came over his face, because he looked at the art gallery and back to Steve, before smiling.

"Do you want to check it out?" asked Bucky.

Steve hesitated. He knew that art was not as interesting for some people as Steve found it, and the last thing he wanted was for Bucky to get bored on what was supposed to be a fun day out.

"Only if you want to," said Steve. "I've already dragged you around the Minster. I know you're not as into art as I am."

Bucky waved aside his concerns with a flap of his hand.

"I don't mind," said Bucky. "I can tell it means a lot to you. Come on, let's go in."

The next hour was spent with Steve squeaking excitedly at a wide range of artforms, whilst Bucky provided dry commentary on what he thought the art represented. Bucky's theories were wildly inaccurate (at one stage, he was adamant that a painting of a bowl of peaches was a subtle nod to the painter's love of big juicy butts), but honestly, Steve would not have it any other way. If anything, Bucky's sarcastic asides were what made their time in the art gallery so much fun.

By the time they emerged into the late afternoon sunshine, both of them were surprised to find they had already spent seven hours exploring York.

Time really did fly when one was having fun.

* * *

They arrived back at Thornton-le-Dale later that evening, pleasantly tired after their long day trip to York.

They headed back to Buttercup Cottage, their feet aching slightly from all the walking they had done that day. After saying a quick hello to Leo and Jemma in reception, they headed upstairs, going to Steve's room and collapsing side by side in the bed. Steve flopped out luxuriously, groaning with pleasure to finally take the pressure off his feet. Bucky smirked at Steve's groan, his eyebrows waggling suggestively at the noise.

"Did you know you groan like a porn star quite a lot?" said Bucky.

Steve's brow crumpled with confusion.

"What?" he said.

Bucky laughed, one hand reaching out and tracing lazily up and down Steve's arm.

"Well, like just then, when you lay down," said Bucky. "And when we had pancakes for lunch. And whenever I scratch your scalp. And when–"

"OK, OK!" said Steve, blushing slightly. "I'm sorry."

Bucky smirked, shaking his head.

"Oh no, I wasn't complaining," said Bucky. "I like your porn star groans..."

With a smile, Bucky slowly began peppering kisses down Steve's jawline. Steve smiled, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to give Bucky better access to his sensitive pulse points. Bucky sucked wet kisses down his throat, before burying his face in Steve's neck, inhaling the scent of him. On instinct, Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky's shoulders, holding him close. For a while, neither of them moved, both of them enjoying the hug as they cuddled together. Steve could feel his eyes slipping closed. It had been a long day. They had done a lot of exploring. He was tired, and judging by the way Bucky was resting peacefully on his chest, so was Bucky.

Nevertheless... Was that a boner, pressing against Steve's hip? He reached down, finding that Bucky was indeed hard, the solid line of his erection pressing against Steve's side. Bucky let out a soft moan when Steve squeezed it gently, his own hand drifting downwards to grope at Steve's crotch. Steve felt himself begin to harden when Bucky began touching him through his shorts, rubbing a hand against Steve's growing bulge.

"Roll onto your side," whispered Bucky.

Steve obeyed, rolling over. Bucky slid behind him so that they were spooning, the warmth of his body soaking into Steve's back. For a while, they simply spooned, and then Steve felt the mattress shift as Bucky stripped off his clothes. After a moment, Steve followed suit. He was not sure if he had the energy to have sex, but regardless, it was another warm night, and he would need to be naked to sleep comfortably. In less than a minute, they were both nude, Bucky's skin warm and comforting against Steve's own as they settled back into their prior spooning position. A shift of Steve's hips brought something hard and thick against the curve of his ass. Steve moaned softly at the feeling of Bucky's excitement resting on his bare skin, a delicious line of heat.

"I'm too tired to fuck," Steve said reluctantly.

Bucky pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

"Me too," he said. "Wanna just jerk off together?"

Steve paused, considering it and then consenting with a nod. He grabbed the lube from the bedside table, squeezing some out onto his hand to ease the glide, and then offering it to Bucky. Soon, the mattress was swaying gently as the sounds of them pleasuring themselves filled the otherwise silent room. It was strangely intimate, to get off simultaneously, separate yet together. Steve concentrated on jerking his cock head, listening all the while to the slick sound of Bucky's hand sliding up and down his own cock, his gaze transfixed by the sight of Bucky's hand working his beautiful dick. He could hear Bucky's breathing becoming heavier as his pleasure increased, and that caused Steve's own excitement to build, knowing that Bucky was getting off just inches away, his thick, perfect cock leaking pre-come.

They did not speak, simply watching one another as they jerked off, a heady mixture of both exhibitionism and voyeurism as they enjoyed this sneak peek into an activity usually so private and hidden. The sight of Bucky's cock head appearing and reappearing within the tight circle of his fist was hypnotic. Bucky was biting back moans now, his hand becoming faster and more erratic as he chased his pleasure. Steve sped up the speed of his own wrist to match Bucky's pace, wanting them to reach the peak together. He could feel his balls, heavy and full of come, drawing up towards his body. Intense pleasure was beginning to build inside him, coiling up like a spring wound tight. He imagined Bucky between his thighs, pistoning in and out of Steve's hole. He imagined Bucky spilling his seed all over them. He imagined Bucky beneath him, legs parted, beautiful, begging Steve to fuck him hard.

Steve's orgasm hit him by surprise, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he spilled all over his chest, pleasure pulsing through him as his cock contracted rhythmically, pumping come all over himself in sharp bursts. Bucky followed a second later, aiming at Steve's chest to add his own load to the sticky mess already covering Steve. Steve gazed down, totally spent, his jaw slack, as he watched the unbelievable sight of Bucky using his chest as a jizz depository, painting his skin with ropes of white, sticky semen.

They came down from their high together, the congealed mess on Steve's chest slowly cooling as their breathing evened out. Steve took a moment to look down at the mess covering him, taking a mental photograph to remember the moment of pure debauchery forever, before reluctantly reaching for some tissues to wipe himself clean.

They fell asleep soon after that, exhausted, the smell of sweat and come and York hanging in the air like a memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/623442352057565184/hot-summer-nights-chapter-9-york-publishing). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> YORK PHOTOS: I have shared [these photos of York](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/622820478851153920/hot-summer-nights-locations-york-read-hot-summer) on my Tumblr, if you want to see what it looks like in real life :)
> 
> YORK: Everything I have described about York in this chapter is true: the ancient city walls that you can walk along, the Minster, the old cobbled streets, the funny street names such as The Shambles and Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate, the old-worldly vibe, the street performers, the Museum Gardens containing the ruined abbey, and the art gallery. Are any readers from/familiar with York? If so, I hope you enjoyed its inclusion in this fic! I absolutely love York and definitely recommend it as a place to visit to people who have never been there before!
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you for your lovely comments on the last chapter; it seemed you guys enjoyed it, even if it did not contain any sexy scenes! Thank you also for your patience in waiting for this chapter; it is one day later than usual because I was feeling quite ill yesterday (nothing serious, just a cold) <3
> 
> THOUGHTS: Did you enjoy Steve and Bucky's day trip to York? Which bit of York would you most like to see yourself? Did you also enjoy them getting off on watching one another get off? ;) I hope so! Feel free to squeal with me in the comments section!
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be titled "Lazy Days" and will see the boys spend a more chilled out day in Thornton-le-Dale. We may also get to see them "switch" it up in the bedroom, if you catch my drift... ;)
> 
> TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the username [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/), if you want to say hi over there! :D


	10. Lazy Days

Steve woke up the next morning with a raging erection.

He slowly emerged from the haze of sleep, his awareness coming to him gradually, his body rousing and his mind catching up several seconds later. He groaned, his hand sliding down to his cock, which was the first thing to break through his state of sleepy confusion and penetrate his awareness. He was absolutely rock hard, his erection red and urgent, almost aching to the touch. There was the usual morning wood, and on top of that, Steve was pretty sure he had just been dreaming about ploughing Bucky into the mattress. Combined, they resulted in the hardest, most urgent boner Steve could remember having in a long time.

He squeezed his cock gently in an attempt to ease the ache, moaning when a dribble of pre-come immediately leaked from the tip. He was horny as hell, his dick ramrod-straight and ready to fuck the nearest living thing. Speaking of... Bucky was snoring gently beside him, lying on his front, his face buried in the pillow. He looked peaceful and angelic, his wavy brown hair tumbling down over his face. In contrast, Steve's thoughts were _anything but_ angelic as his eyes raked down Bucky's naked body, hungrily tracing the fluid lines of his physique, the sculpted muscle, the swathes of enticing bare skin. Bucky's ass was catching the morning sunlight perfectly, the swell of his pert cheeks casting delicious shadows in the valley that lay between them.

Steve began to stroke himself slowly, his eyes devouring the sight of Bucky lying stretched out nude beside him. He was impatient for the other man to wake up, so that he could touch him, kiss him, rut against him the way he wanted to. He could not remember the last time he had woken up in such a tormented state of arousal. He wanted to touch Bucky, to taste him, to do anything, everything, _now_. He quietly lifted himself up on his elbow, the new vantage point giving him a better view of Bucky's round ass. Why had he not fully appreciated how perfect Bucky's ass was until now? The memory of the dream seared in his brain like an after-image. He remembered how incredible dream-Bucky's ass had felt wrapped around his cock, letting out a groan when his real-life cock gave another urgent throb in response.

The sound must have pierced Bucky's consciousness, because the next thing he knew, Bucky was blinking blearily, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he awoke to the sight of Steve watching him like a pervert, propped up on his elbow, one hand clutching his burgeoning erection. Bucky stared at him in astonishment, adorably confused, his lips parted in a silent little "o" of surprise. His gaze fluttered up from Steve's swollen cock to his face. His dark blue eyes, still dazed with sleep, widened when they saw the raw lust written plain across Steve's features.

"Uhh... Morning," said Bucky uncertainly. "Are you... alright?"

"I'm horny," said Steve, too aroused to think of anything more eloquent. "Fuck me. Please?"

Bucky's jaw went slack, his pupils visibly dilating at Steve's words. For a moment, he simply stared at Steve, obviously stunned by just how desperately horny he was this morning, before coming to his senses, shaking himself and immediately reaching for the lube on the bedside table.

"I'm guessing you don't want to linger on the foreplay this morning, huh?" smirked Bucky.

Steve shook his head impatiently.

"Just give me your cock," he said.

Bucky's eyes gleamed, his erection throbbing as he clicked open the bottle of lube, squeezing some out onto his fingers. In one smooth movement, he clambered on top of Steve, sixty-nine style, his crotch above Steve's face whilst he leaned down to peer between Steve's parted legs, using one hand to part his cheeks and expose his dusky hole. Bucky's blunt cock head nudged against Steve's mouth, urging him to open up.

"Get sucking, you dirty slut," said Bucky. "If you get me hard enough, I might even fuck you like you want."

Steve immediately opened his mouth, moaning when Bucky's cock instantly plunged in and started fucking against his tongue in rapid, shallow thrusts. He was unbelievably turned on by Bucky's dirty talk, and even more so to have his mouth simply used as a hot wet hole for Bucky to fuck. Steve's own erection was painfully hard against his abdomen, completely ignored as Bucky focused his attention on Steve's hole. One slick finger was already pushing inside him, gentle despite Bucky's lewd words, working patiently against Steve's tight sphincter, not wanting to hurt him. Steve wriggled his hips impatiently, desperate for more. He felt like a madman. He did not care if it hurt. He wanted Bucky to go faster. He _needed_ to feel Bucky's cock inside him soon. Every second of waiting was like agony, his hole feeling wretched and empty without Bucky pounding into him. _Jesus_ , at what point during the last ten days had he become so addicted to Bucky's cock?

Bucky's first finger was finally fully seated inside Steve, sliding in and out slowly to stretch him out and get him used to the feeling of being filled. It was not enough. Steve whined around Bucky's cock in his mouth, his legs shaking, desperate, begging for more. It seemed that Bucky was going agonisingly slowly. Every second felt like a minute. Steve could not remember the last time he had been so horny. Tears formed in his eyes when Bucky's fingertip brushed gently against his prostate, the little sparks of pleasure making him delirious.

"More," he begged, his words muffled around Bucky's thick cock. "Please, please, _more_..."

Finally, Bucky seemed to get the message. A second finger slid in alongside the first, working him open, pistoning in and out to stretch him as quickly and efficiently as possible. Steve was a moaning mess, his cheeks flushed, his legs trembling, his cock smearing pre-come against his abdomen as Bucky stretched his hole open. A third finger was shoved in unceremoniously, causing Steve's eyes to water against the burn, but Steve loved it, his cock throbbing with excitement at the imminent prospect of finally being filled by Bucky's gorgeous dick.

At last, Bucky deemed him sufficiently prepped. He pulled his fingers out of Steve's ass, withdrawing his cock from Steve's mouth at the same time, before groping around on the bedside table for a condom. Tearing open the packet, he shuffled down the bed so that he was kneeling between Steve's legs, putting the condom on carefully and rolling it down to the base of his cock. Nudging Steve's legs apart with his thighs, he rubbed the tip of his cock against Steve's hole, before pressing in slowly, slipping in inch by glorious inch, until he was finally sheathed to the hilt inside Steve's tight ass. Steve gasped at the stretch. It felt incredible. He wrapped his legs around Bucky's waist, urging him to move.

Bucky immediately set a quick pace, apparently just as horny as Steve. His thick cock was ramming Steve hard and deep, making the bed sway under them as they rutted together, breathing hard. Bucky's cock was rubbing against Steve's prostate with each inward thrust, eliciting little sparks of pleasure inside him, drawing breathless moans from his lips as he got ploughed hard. Steve threw his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes to concentrate on the sensation of being fucked, feeling the delicious drag of Bucky's huge cock against his inner walls, his rim stretched wide, dripping with lube. Little squishing sounds were coming from his ass with every thrust. It was glorious. It was obscene. It was exactly what he had been so desperate for.

And yet...

Something was missing. Despite everything – the length and thickness of Bucky's cock, the patient way Steve's ass had been prepped, the incredible way Bucky was railing him hard – it was not enough. The burning itch under his skin was still not satisfied. He was craving something more. His mind went back to the dream, remembering the way his dream-self had entered Bucky's tight hole, the way dream-Bucky had moaned and gasped so beautifully when Steve fucked him, the way dream-Bucky had begged him for more. Steve's cock throbbed with longing. That was what he wanted – to fuck Bucky, to feel the tightness of his ass, to give him that special kind of thrilling pleasure that Steve was presently receiving as he took him up the ass.

"I want to fuck you," said Steve, gasping when Bucky gave him a particularly hard thrust. "Oh God! Please... let me fuck you."

Bucky paused mid-thrust, his eyes widening with shock as Steve's words finally sunk in. His jaw went slack, a pink blush colouring his cheeks in a way that was adorable, suddenly looking shy – which was quite a feat, considering he currently had his cock jammed deep inside Steve's butt.

"You wanna... fuck me?" said Bucky. "Like, in the ass?"

"Yeah?" said Steve. "Unless you don't like bottoming! Only if you want–"

"Yeah," said Bucky, a little breathlessly. "Yeah, I like bottoming."

Without any further preamble, he pulled out of Steve's ass, grabbing the lube from the bedside table and handing it to Steve. Steve took the lube from him, his eyes unable to look away as Bucky settled back against the pillows, his legs parting, his dark blue eyes looking up at Steve coyly through his thick eyelashes. Steve gazed at Bucky's hole, tight and furled, surrounded by wispy dark hair. A frisson of excitement went through him, butterflies in his stomach that Bucky was really letting him do this, that he was willing to let Steve touch him in the most intimate way possible.

Steve coated his fingers liberally with lube, before leaning down, placing a long gentle kiss against Bucky's lips. Horny though he was, he had no intention of rushing this. He wanted to make sure it felt good for Bucky. He wanted their first time like this to be pleasurable for Bucky, not painful. He wanted it to be special. It felt like a precious gift, to finally be able to give Bucky the kind of enjoyment that Bucky had given him so many times before. He kissed Bucky gently, his dry hand cupping Bucky's face and stroking his cheek lovingly, until he felt Bucky relaxing beneath him, his muscles becoming visibly less tense.

Only once he was sure that Bucky was calm and relaxed, did he finally brush his slick middle finger against Bucky's hole. He heard Bucky's breath hitch for a moment, his eyes widening as Steve began rubbing the pad of his finger against his hole gently, not penetrating, simply getting him used to the sensation of being touched there. Bucky reached out for his dry hand, clinging on to him tightly, his hips rocking back and forth almost imperceptibly, grinding subtly against Steve's stroking finger.

Steve groaned, unable to hold back any longer. He pressed inside slowly, the incredible tightness of Bucky's ass squeezing his finger like a vice. Bucky's sphincter was a tight band of pressure, causing Steve's cock to twitch at the mere thought of sliding in there. Bucky's eyes fluttered closed, his breathing becoming heavier as Steve began sawing his finger in and out, stretching him slowly, coating his walls with lube. Steve nibbled at Bucky's jawline as he continued to fuck Bucky with his finger. He could feel Bucky starting to relax, the pressure around his finger becoming less overwhelmingly tight, the ring of muscle becoming looser and more pliable.

Slowly, watching Bucky's face the entire time to make sure he was not hurting him, he inserted a second finger. Bucky threw his head back, letting out a guttural groan at the delicious stretch. Steve's fingers began to slide in and out a little faster, his excitement rising at the thought of getting him loose enough to fuck. With a deliberate curl of his fingers, he pressed against Bucky's prostate, causing him to cry out, Bucky's legs curling at the direct stimulation to the sensitive bundle of nerves. Steve smirked, alternating between fucking Bucky open with his fingers and massaging against his prostate. Before long, Bucky was a writhing mess, his cheeks red and his hips rocking back and forth, pushing down breathlessly against Steve's fingers.

Steve could not take it any longer. He withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, before wiping them dry on the bed sheets and reaching for a condom. Tearing open the foil packet, he put it on quickly, before settling down between Bucky's parted legs, taking a moment to take in the sight before him. Bucky's face was flushed red, his lips slick and parted, his hair a mess. Between his legs, his hole was slick with lube, his rim noticeably looser thanks to Steve's careful preparations. Steve's heart was hammering, his cock straining, desperate to take the beautiful man spread out before him. This was what he had wanted from the moment he had woken up. He licked his lips, placing the tip of his cock against Bucky's slick hole, mesmerised by the way his rim bulged out slightly at the pressure.

Slowly, he began to push in. Bucky's rim resisted him at first, before suddenly giving way, allowing him entry. Steve gasped as his cock was suddenly squeezed by a tight ring of heat, Bucky's ass warm and tight and slick around him. It took all his self-control not to start pounding away right then and there, instead forcing himself to look at Bucky's face, to check that he was OK with Steve's substantial girth suddenly being inside him. Bucky's cheeks were pink, his eyes wide, his mouth open in a silent moan. Steve began to thrust slowly in and out, not properly fucking him yet, simply sliding a little deeper each time, giving Bucky time to get used to the feeling of being stretched around Steve's thick cock.

Bucky moaned as Steve gently fucked into him, reaching around to hold onto Steve's back, until Steve finally bottomed out inside of him, his balls resting against Bucky's. He paused for a moment, revelling in the incredible feeling of being completely sheathed inside Bucky. His ass felt incredible, the tightness of his rim squeezing him in a way that made Steve berate himself for not thinking of topping him before, and beyond that, the smooth warmness of his inner walls hugged Steve like a glove. He grinded himself in small circles inside Bucky's ass, enjoying the way his sphincter clung to him, squeezing him tight. Bucky whined at the stimulation, his cock leaking pre-come against his abdomen, trying to buck his hips to get Steve to move.

It was all the encouragement Steve needed. He pulled almost all the way out, before thrusting back in, setting a rapidly quickening pace when it became apparent Bucky was enjoying himself just as much as Steve. Steve buried his face in Bucky's neck, inhaling the scent of him as he began to fuck him hard. Bucky felt incredible wrapped around him, hot and tight and rocking his hips to meet every thrust. The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing, heady moans, and Steve's balls slapping lewdly against Bucky's ass cheeks. It was amazing, stunning; every bit as good as the dream and then some. Bucky was groaning and gasping in time with Steve's thrusts, each plunge of Steve's cock drawing another cry of ecstasy from Bucky's lips.

Steve could already feel his pleasure rising, the tightness of Bucky's slick ass around his cock intent on wringing his orgasm out of him. He breathed hard, gritting his teeth, sweat dripping down his skin, wanting to draw it out for as long as possible to prolong their pleasure. Bucky had wrapped a loose fist around himself and was masturbating in time with Steve's thrusts, jacking off to the rhythm set by Steve's hips. Steve leaned down and kissed him, desperate for the taste of Bucky's lips as he sank into his tight, delicious ass over and over.

It was then that Bucky reached around with his spare hand, contorting himself slightly so that he could reach behind Steve's ass. Before Steve knew what was happening, Bucky's fingers were pushing inside his hole – already slick with lube and loosened up from when Bucky had fucked him earlier. Steve choked on his own breath, his eyes widening as Bucky began plunging his fingers in and out of Steve's ass.

"Keep fucking me," demanded Bucky. "You're going to feel it from both ends."

If Steve did not know what "topping from the bottom" meant before, he sure as hell did now. As per Bucky's command, he resumed thrusting into Bucky's ass, except this time, whenever he pulled out, Bucky's fingers would plunge into his own hole, so that he was feeling not only his own sexual torment but Bucky's as well. He whimpered, ramming in and out of Bucky in a frenzy, confused and aroused beyond measure by the multiple sensations, the dual assault of pleasure from both ends. In – and he felt Bucky's delicious ass tight around his cock – and out – and Bucky's fingers were plunging into him from behind, jabbing mercilessly against his prostate. In, out, in, out...

He came violently, exploding into the condom with a hard thrust of his hips, burying himself to the hilt and gritting his teeth as he unleashed a huge load into the condom, pleasure throbbing through him in intense pulses; from his cock, from his prostate, seeming to emanate from everywhere, one huge eruption of white-hot lust. Moments later, Bucky let out a high-pitched whine, come spurting from his cock and splashing onto both of them. Steve groaned as he felt Bucky's ass contracting rhythmically around him, milking Steve's cock, drawing out the last little spurts of orgasm from him.

Finally, their pleasure subsided. They stayed locked together for a while, breathing hard, Bucky's legs cradling Steve's hips, until Steve felt himself softening. Reluctantly, he withdrew from Bucky's ass, pulling off the used condom and throwing it in the bin, before collapsing beside him. For a while, neither of them spoke, their brains reduced to mush from the mind-blowing sex they had just engaged in.

After a while, Bucky rolled onto his side, placing a surprisingly chaste kiss against Steve's lips.

"Thank you," said Bucky, quietly. "I needed that."

* * *

After a shower and some breakfast, Steve and Bucky decided to spend the day relaxing in the back garden of Buttercup Cottage. After their busy time in York the previous day, neither of them could quite muster up the energy to do any further exploring or rigorous exercise today. Besides, the back garden was so beautiful, and the weather so sunny, that it felt like the perfect way to spend a lazy day.

Kitted out in loose shorts and comfortable t-shirts, they headed out of the back door onto the wooden patio, to be immediately bathed in warm summer sunshine. Steve tilted his face up to the sun, smiling as he was caressed by the warm rays. The garden was looking glorious in the bright light; the flowers a vibrant riot of colour, their sweet scent carrying on the gentle breeze. Bucky fiddled about with the large sun parasol at the patio table, quickly managing to erect it to offer them some shade. They settled down at the table together, sitting in the cool shade provided by the parasol, stretching out and relaxing in the comfortable chairs.

The first few hours passed pleasantly quickly. They were not particularly interacting, but that itself felt like a form of intimacy – to do their own thing, in their own time, sitting with one another simply for the comfort of one another's proximity, the other's mere presence enough to constitute company. Steve was reading a book – _Hercule Poirot's Christmas_ by Agatha Christie – getting totally absorbed in the story, devouring page after page in thrilling silence. Across the table, Bucky was alternating between watching YouTube videos and listening to music through his headphones, at times laughing at some unheard joke, other times bobbing his head to the beat of some inaudible tune. Steve would sometimes surface from his book just long enough to sneak a glance at Bucky, or to gaze out at the garden in full bloom, a smile lighting up his face at both of these beautiful sights.

He was, he realised, truly happy. He had no worries – his mind as calm and clear as the cloudless blue sky above them. He was in a beautiful little village, with a wonderful man to keep him company, and no stresses from the outside world to impinge upon his tranquil little bubble. This was bliss. Having a lazy day reading a book in a quiet garden in Thornton-le-Dale was his own personal version of perfection. He smiled, his heart full of light, contented joy, and returned to reading his book.

They roused themselves at around 1pm, getting up from their chairs and stretching, before heading inside in search of food. Technically, Buttercup Cottage was just a bed and breakfast, and therefore did not serve lunch, but Jemma had made it clear on previous occasions that they were welcome to food whenever they wanted. When they found her in the reception booth and asked if there was anything they could have for lunch, she jumped up with a smile and fetched them a cold pasta, green pesto and salad mix – perfect for summer. Thanking her delightedly, they headed back outside, chatting and exchanging quips as they tucked into their lunch.

The food was delicious. The pesto made a perfect seasoning for both the pasta and the various salad vegetables: cherry tomatoes, avocado slices, rocket. It was light, tasty and perfect for a warm summer's day. They looked out onto the beautiful, vibrant garden as they ate, a sense of peace settling over Steve as he watched the flowers swaying gently in the breeze. The sun beat down on them, warm but not swelteringly so. With good food, good weather and good company, time flew by, and it did not take them long at all to finish their food.

After lunch, they set about their afternoon a little differently. Steve managed to borrow some paper and a pencil from reception and began sketching the garden. Bucky went to the lounge and brought back a magazine on interior design, settling back down opposite Steve as he began to flick through it, examining the various designs with interest. For a while, they once again got lost in their pursuits, the scratch of Steve's pencil and the rustling of Bucky's magazine the only noises to punctuate the otherwise natural sounds of the garden. Steve became totally absorbed in his drawing, concentrating hard on getting the perspective just right. The next time Steve looked up, therefore, he was surprised to see a pair of green eyes staring back at him.

"Oh!" he said, almost dropping his pencil in shock. "Bucky, look! A cat."

Bucky put down his magazine, twisting around to look for the cat, his face lighting up immediately when he saw it. It was a fluffy ginger tabby, with bright green eyes and a black collar. It was stretched out luxuriously on the grass, the paler, fluffier fur of its belly peeking out from beneath it. It seemed to be enjoying the summer sunshine, basking lazily in the warm rays, its face turned towards them with a curious yet aloof expression. Bucky visibly melted as he stared at the adorable creature, his gaze softening and a smile stretching his face. Bucky slid out of his chair, padding gently across the patio towards the cat. Steve followed him, moving slowly and gently so as not to frighten the little animal. The cat watched them approach with half-closed eyes, seemingly unbothered by their proximity when they sat down on the grass beside it.

"Hey, kitty kitty," said Bucky, offering his finger for the cat to sniff. "How you doin', little buddy?"

Steve could not help but smile at Bucky's "cat voice": gentle, pitched high, like he was talking to a baby. The cat sniffed curiously at Bucky's finger, and then, seemingly content that he was not a threat, rubbed its head against Bucky's hand. Bucky stroked the cat's head gently, visibly delighted when the cat began to purr loudly in response.

"Oh my God," said Bucky. "He's so _soft_. Feel him."

Shuffling on his butt so that he was closer to the cat, Steve also offered his finger, wanting to get the feline's approval before touching it. The ginger cat sniffed inquisitively at his finger, before letting out another loud purr and rubbing the side of its face against Steve's hand. Approval granted, Steve stroked his hand through the sleek orange fur, a smile forming on his face at the wonderful texture. Bucky was right; the cat was beautifully soft and obviously well-cared for.

"What's your name, little fella?" said Steve, giving the cat a little scratch under the chin. "Who's a good kitty?"

It was then that he noticed a silver name tag hanging from the cat's collar. Leaning closer so that he could get a proper look at it, he read the cat's name engraved in the silver circle: _Goose_.

"Goose?" said Steve.

"No, Steve... This is a cat," said Bucky, looking slightly concerned for Steve's mental wellbeing.

Steve shook his head, blushing slightly as he tried to look as dignified and intelligent as possible. He pointed at the name tag, wanting to prove to Bucky that he was not a complete moron.

"No, this cat's name is Goose!" he said.

Bucky squinted at the name tag, before laughing, giving Goose a little scratch behind the ears.

"Hey, Goose!" said Bucky. "That's a weird name for a cat! Are your owners confused?"

Goose gave a loud meow, before rolling onto his back and exposing his fluffy belly to the two men. Bucky rubbed the pale ginger belly gently, grinning when Goose began to purr once more. Steve stroked Goose's head, delighting in the silky smoothness of his fur. Goose was a gorgeous cat; ginger with subtle stripes, like a little tiger. Steve rubbed a finger under his chin, and Goose stretched out his neck immediately, giving Steve better access, obviously loving it.

"Ooh, you love neck strokes?" said Steve. "Does that feel nice? Who's a good kitty, huh? Is it you, Goose? Are you a good kitty?"

Goose gave another happy meow, before rolling back onto his front and standing up. He dug his front paws into the grass and stretched himself, arching his back and giving a wide yawn. It was then that he noticed Bucky's shoelaces, giving one of the laces a playful bat with his paw, his eyes lighting up at the fun new game.

"Hey, how about this flower instead?" Bucky said hurriedly, grabbing a nearby dead flower from the ground and dangling it in front of Goose's face.

Goose steadfastly ignored the flower, concentrating on launching a ferocious attack on Bucky's shoelace instead, his pupils blown wide with excitement as he repeatedly lashed out at the shoelace with his front paws. Steve snorted with laughter as Bucky slowly pulled his sock up his leg to cover the maximum amount of skin possible, lest one of Goose's flailing paws accidentally catch his leg. Goose was thoroughly enjoying the game, wiggling his butt and pouncing playfully on Bucky's foot, a mad scramble of fluffy ginger fur.

Steve spotted a length of string on the patio that looked as though it had come loose from the wooden trellis and quickly went and grabbed it. Taking pity on Bucky, he dangled the piece of string enticingly in front of Goose, luring him away from Bucky's poor foot.

"Hey, little buddy!" said Steve. "Wanna play?"

Goose immediately began to chase after the string instead, leaping high into the air as Steve swished it back and forth. They laughed as Goose chased excitedly after the string, his green eyes bright and shining as he pursued his quarry. He was graceful even as he darted back and forth, jumping and pouncing with perfect accuracy, his movements elegant and agile.

They played with Goose for about another quarter of an hour, until he finally decided he had had enough, turning his back on the string and rubbing once against Steve and Bucky's legs, before disappearing into one of the flowerbeds, quickly becoming obscured from view by the colourful flora.

* * *

That night, Bucky suggested that they go for a stroll around the village.

Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise. The request itself was not too strange, but the timing was. The clock on the wall said that it was 11pm. The sun had set several hours before, and usually around this time they might consider going to sleep. He glanced out of the window, his gaze lingering on the inky black sky littered with stars.

"Now?" said Steve. "You don't want to wait until tomorrow?"

Bucky shook his head, looking slightly wistful.

"No, I want to see the village after dark," he said. "It's always interesting to walk around places at night. You get to see them in a completely different way."

Steve could not say he had ever particularly had the urge to go and explore at night, but if it was important to Bucky, he was more than willing to tag along. He shrugged and nodded, earning a smile from Bucky, and slipped on some shoes. They walked down the narrow rickety staircase as quietly as they could, unsure if Leo and Jemma were already asleep downstairs, and padded along the corridor to the front door. The cool night air hit them the moment they stepped outside, a light breeze ruffling their t-shirts.

Bucky's hand slipped into Steve's, the warmth of his skin soaking into Steve's own. Steve's heart gave an unexpected flutter at the contact, and he found himself grateful for the darkness, so that Bucky would not see his blush. Bucky tugged at his hand, leading him down the little garden path and out onto the pavement. He looked around and then pointed right on a whim. The two of them began walking in that direction, hand in hand, looking around as they went.

"I love seeing what places are like when no one else is looking," explained Bucky. "What's Thornton-le-Dale like, when all the day-trippers have gone and all the locals are at home?"

Steve blinked, slightly bemused. He did not really understand Bucky's point of view, but nevertheless, he tried, attempting to look at the village with a fresh pair of eyes. After a while, he realised that Thornton-le-Dale _was_ different at night. Apart from Steve and Bucky, the streets were totally deserted. It was slightly eerie, to see the place devoid of human life. As they walked, however, Steve realised that that was not quite true. The lights were on in people's homes. Occasionally, they would pass a house that had not bothered to draw the curtains, allowing them a glimpse into the life of a stranger. Due to the heatwave, many of the houses had left their windows open in an attempt to tempt in a draught, and as Steve and Bucky walked by, they would often hear snatches of conversation.

Slowly, a smile began to form on Steve's face. Now, he was beginning to understand what Bucky had meant. Seeing Thornton-le-Dale like this was a precious gift. Over the past ten days, they had got to know the village during the day. Now, they were getting acquainted with it at night. The gentle trickle of the stream was even more magical in the darkness. Seeing the houses lit up from the inside was almost like looking into a snow globe at Christmas. They walked past an open window and heard a family talking and laughing from within. Steve smiled, listening to the beautiful sound of everyday life, and the gentle Yorkshire accent with the funny "u" that made "but" rhyme with "put".

He loved this perfect little village. Thornton-le-Dale was beautiful, and somehow even more so at night – peaceful and quiet and quaint. Happiness bloomed in his chest. He gripped Bucky's hand a little tighter, simply to enjoy the feeling of his skin, and the weight of his hand within Steve's own. He suddenly felt incredibly lucky that Peter Parker, the work experience boy, had got the dates of the Annual World Romantic Writers' Conference mixed up.

That twist of fate, that happy accident, had meant that Steve had ended up with these two weeks in the north east of England.

It had meant he was walking around, right now, looking around joyfully at quaint cottages in the darkness.

It had meant he had met Bucky, this special, beautiful man whom he had not even known ten days prior – and whom he could no longer imagine life without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/624630622241128448/hot-summer-nights-chapter-10-lazy-days). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> NEW STUCKY SMUT FIC PUBLISHED: Last weekend, I published a new fic as part of the Stucky Reverse Big Bang 2020! If you like Stucky + kinkiness + hardcore smut, please feel free to check out [The Penthouse Suite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25339414) (15,873 words). Here's a summary to whet your appetite:
> 
> Bucky Barnes has the chance to earn $5,000 in one night. All he has to do is go to the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel and spend the night with his client, one enigmatic Steve Rogers.
> 
> The catch? Steve is a massive pervert, intent on using this one night to satisfy every single one of his many debauched kinks.
> 
> Even ignoring the big box of sex toys on the bed, Bucky should have known he was in trouble the moment Steve opened his mouth and said his first words: "My name is Steve Rogers, but you can call me Sir..."
> 
> GOOSE THE CAT: Did any of you spot the "Goose the cat" Easter egg? Well done if you did! Goose is the name of the ginger "cat" (actually an alien, but whatever!) that appears in the film Captain Marvel :D
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you so much for your lovely comments on the last chapter! I'm glad you guys seemed to enjoy virtually visiting York with Steve and Bucky <3
> 
> THOUGHTS: Your thoughts, feelings and squealings are always loved and appreciated <3 Please let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments section below! Did you enjoy seeing Steve top? Did you like the boys being all gooey over a cat? :)
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be titled "The Games We Play" and will see Steve and Bucky spend another day in Thornton-le-Dale... 
> 
> TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the name [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/)! I share Marvel fanart, answer asks from readers, and post exclusive teasers for Hot Summer Nights one day before uploading chapters on here. Feel free to give me a follow if any of that sounds like your jam! <3


	11. The Games We Play

They awoke the next morning in a tangle of limbs, their legs intertwined, Steve's arm thrown out over Bucky's chest. They came to consciousness slowly, the white morning sunlight softened by the curtain, bathing them in gentle, ethereal light. Steve gradually became aware of Bucky's chest moving gently as he breathed, causing Steve's arm to rise and fall in time with the rhythm. It was a simple, comforting movement – like a rocking chair, or a heartbeat. Birds were singing outside of the window, welcoming the new day. Steve listened for a while to the beautiful sound of birdsong, before finally mustering the energy to crack open his eyes.

Bucky was already awake, his face lighting up when he saw that Steve had joined him in the land of the living. His eyes crinkled into a smile, one hand reaching up to cup Steve's face.

"Morning, sleepy head," said Bucky.

"Morning," said Steve, his voice still raspy with sleep. "What time is it?"

"About 8 o'clock," smiled Bucky. "Plenty of time before breakfast time's over."

Steve hummed contentedly, happy that there was no rush to leave the warm comfort of the bed. He curled his toes luxuriously in the soft blanket, relishing the glorious feeling, before lifting his eyes to Bucky's face. Bucky was watching him gently, his gaze soft and full of caring. His hand stroked Steve's cheek lovingly, his head dipping down to drop a kiss to the tip of Steve's nose.

"You're beautiful," murmured Bucky. "I was watching you before you woke up, and you're just... beautiful."

Steve blushed, unused to receiving such a simple, raw compliment. He ducked his head momentarily, before looking up at Bucky from beneath his lashes, his gaze sweeping over the striking dark blue of Bucky's eyes, the way his brown hair was mussed from sleep, his perfect jawline.

"I... I think you're beautiful, too," said Steve, honestly, before he could overthink it.

Bucky smiled, before leaning in and pressing a slow, gentle kiss against Steve's lips. Steve closed his eyes, losing himself in the kiss, enjoying the softness of Bucky's lips against his own, such a wonderful contrast to the slight scratch of his beard. This was nothing like the frantic, desperate morning of the day before. This was slow, languid, gentle. Steve savoured the kiss, one hand reaching up to tangle gently in Bucky's hair, his fingers scratching Bucky's scalp lightly, drawing a happy sigh from Bucky's lips. Steve opened his eyes, his heart jumping a little when he saw that Bucky had opened his eyes at the exact same moment.

For a moment, they simply stared at one another, before continuing to kiss slowly, their eyes locked, Steve losing himself in cornflower blue. Somehow, kissing with their eyes open felt incredibly intimate. They gazed into one another's eyes, entranced, unable to look away. Steve felt as though he were staring into Bucky's very soul, and found his heart leaping at the thought. They kissed for a long while, in no hurry, with no impatience for it to evolve into anything greater, simply enjoying the act of kissing in and of itself. Eventually, Bucky pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against Steve's, his breath ghosting across Steve's skin.

"Can I make love to you?" asked Bucky quietly. "I can't resist you."

Steve gazed back at him, unsure why Bucky's words had brought a sudden lump to his throat. He had never thought of what they had been doing as love making, before. It had just been sex, fucking. He swallowed, trying to regain his composure, but the lump in his throat refused to budge. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded wordlessly, huffing out a smile when Bucky's face lit up instantly, the other man pressing one more kiss to Steve's lips, before moving down his body.

Bucky took his time preparing Steve, peppering his skin with kisses, murmuring how beautiful he was like this, with his legs spread and trembling, as if the act of preparation was in itself an act of love making, gentle and sensual, full of care. By the time he finally slid home, Steve was begging, whimpering his name, clinging to him as if his life depended on it, like he was cast adrift at sea, with only Bucky to keep him afloat above the waves.

Steve buried his face in Bucky's neck, breathing in the scent of him, almost fancying that he could feel the other man's heartbeat through the thin layer of skin. He wanted to stay in that moment forever, making love with Bucky, locked together as one, sweat dripping from their skin and soaking into the bed sheets. Soon, the salt of their skin was joined by a much saltier, wetter substance. As they cooled down, Bucky softened and slipped out of Steve, and Steve found himself slightly disappointed by the loss, as if he had wanted to keep Bucky inside him for longer.

For the first time, it crossed Steve's mind that all of this would soon be coming to an end. Steve's flight home was in three days' time, and Bucky had made it quite clear on the day that they had met that he was not looking for another long-term relationship after his recent disastrous experience with his ex. In three days' time, Steve would leave, and that would be the end of it. Steve's heart gave an unexpected pang at the realisation, something shifting in his chest and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He closed his eyes, trying to push the thought out of his mind and focus on the present moment, wrapped up in Bucky's arms.

He should be thankful that he got to experience this at all, he thought to himself – even if only for a few short, perfect weeks.

* * *

They went down for breakfast shortly afterwards, heading to the dining room and sitting down at their favourite table by the window overlooking the front garden.

Several minutes later, Leo entered the room, making a beeline for their table as soon as he saw them. He was visibly excited about something, his eyes shining and a huge grin stretching his face. By the time he reached them, he was practically vibrating from the soles of his slippers to the curls on the top of his head, looking as though he were literally about to burst with excitement.

"Hey, guys!" said Leo brightly.

Steve and Bucky exchanged surprised looks, mystified as to what could have got the Scotsman in such a good mood this morning.

"Uh... Hey, Leo," said Steve. "How are you?"

"I'm really great!" said Leo immediately, before glancing furtively around and lowering his tone to a whisper. "I have some news."

Steve and Bucky instantly leaned in so that they were huddled together, their curiosity well and truly piqued. Leo was back to grinning like a madman, his cheeks glowing and his blue eyes absolutely sparkling with joy.

"So, Jemma and I have gone on a few different dates now," whispered Leo. "And they've all gone really well! So, last night, we had a talk, and we decided something..."

He paused for dramatic effect, his grin reaching truly enormous proportions. Steve and Bucky stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to reveal the huge news that had got him so excited. Leo did not speak, apparently enjoying cradling the news to his chest just a little bit longer, before a small squeak escaped his lips, some of the excitement apparently unable to be contained within his body.

"Come on, man!" said Bucky. "I feel like you're going to explode if you don't spill."

"We're _official!_ " said Leo, the words finally gushing out of him. "Like, a _couple_. As in, you know, _boyfriend and girlfriend!_ "

As Leo's words sank in, Steve felt a smile spreading over his face, warmth blossoming in his chest. Leo was grinning widely, a blush painting his cheeks as he gazed off into the middle distance, obviously thinking about Jemma. He clearly loved her very much, and it seemed that the feeling was just as strongly reciprocated. Steve could think of no better match than the two of them, and it filled him with joy that they had finally taken that first step in making their relationship official. He offered Leo a fist bump, which was immediately returned with enthusiasm, truly happy for him.

"Congratulations," said Steve warmly. "That's awesome news!"

"Yeah, man!" said Bucky. "That's great!"

Leo gave a happy sigh, accepting their congratulations with a smile as he gazed dreamily at the flowers out of the window.

At that moment, footsteps sounded in the hallway, and then Jemma popped her head into the room, giving Steve and Bucky a cheery wave when she saw them.

"Morning, guys!" she said, before turning to Leo, her expression instantly changing to one just as starstruck and in love as the one Leo was giving her. "I'm just off to get some supplies for the kitchen. I was thinking of getting some bolognese sauce for our date, later. Sound good?"

"Sounds like the best meal in the world," said Leo, with such genuine enthusiasm that Steve could not help but smile.

"OK!" said Jemma, before giving them all another wave and heading out towards the front door, her footsteps disappearing down the corridor.

From his position by the window, Steve watched her as she walked down the garden path and then turned right to walk along the pavement towards the village centre.

A gentle smile tugged at his lips at the memory of the way Jemma had looked at Leo – with the exact same love, understanding and devotion with which Leo looked at her.

* * *

It was yet another beautiful day, so after breakfast, Steve and Bucky decided to go for a wander around the village and surrounding countryside.

They walked slowly, enjoying the quaint, peaceful aesthetic of Thornton-le-Dale, savouring it. As they walked, Steve found himself being bombarded by memories, as if he were going through a compilation of "greatest hits" from his last eleven days with Bucky. They followed the funny little stream that ran along the side of the road – that Bucky had fallen into on their way back from Harker's Point. They went past the beautiful thatched cottage – that they had found on their very first day exploring the village together. They went past the willow tree – where they had sucked one another off by the water's edge – and exchanged smirks at the memory.

Eventually, they left the village behind altogether, finding a field that was set back from the main road. Feeling spontaneous, they climbed over a stile and walked along the footpath that ran alongside the edge of the field, eventually coming upon a large oak tree that provided some welcome shade from the heat of the sun. They flopped down on the soft grass beneath the tree, lying on their backs and looking up into the deep green of the leaves above them. Steve smiled, enjoying the feeling of grass tickling the back of his neck. If he looked down a little, he could see the stunning blue of the summer sky. There were a few clouds rolling lazily along in the upper atmosphere, looking just like fluffy cotton balls.

They relaxed under the tree for a while, enjoying the serene surroundings, relishing the warmth of the air but the coolness of the shade. They chatted about their favourite films, their go-to easy meals, and Jemma and Leo's adorable blossoming relationship. After a while, they lapsed into silence, simply enjoying the present moment; the rustle of the crop in the field as the wind blew through it, the chirping of a nearby blackbird, the clouds drifting across the periwinkle blue sky.

"Do you want to play a game?" said Bucky suddenly.

Steve glanced over at him, cocking an eyebrow with curiosity, wondering what Bucky had in mind.

"Sure," said Steve. "What game?"

"Just, like, try to find shapes and pictures in the clouds," shrugged Bucky. "It's a dumb game my sisters and I used to play when we were kids."

Steve grinned, immediately on board. It was a game he had greatly enjoyed in the past too, and the thought that Bucky wanted to share this little piece of his childhood with Steve for some reason made him feel warm inside. He pointed at a cloud which was floating above them, a smile curving his lips.

"What do you think that one looks like?" asked Steve.

For a moment, silence, and then:

"A teddy bear holding a chainsaw."

Steve's eyes bugged out of his head as he tried and failed to see what on earth Bucky was perceiving. Steve had thought the cloud looked a little like a watering can.

"What the fuck, man?! I don't see it."

Bucky pointed to where the cloud seemed to be one lump on top of another.

"That's the head and that's the body," he said, and then, pointing to the long, thin protrusion sticking out of one side, "and that's the chainsaw."

"Hmm..." said Steve, unconvinced.

"Fine, what does that one over there look like, to you?" said Bucky, pointing to another cloud further towards the horizon.

Steve looked at it for a while, squinting his eyes to try to see different shapes and patterns within it. It was a slightly uneven cloud, with a bulbous top and a more tapering bottom. Suddenly, the shape of an ice cream abruptly presented itself. Steve grinned. How appropriate, considering they were on holiday.

"An ice cream," said Steve.

Bucky hummed with approval.

"Nice!" he said. "I thought it looked like a bee with a huge, terrifying stinger."

Steve snorted with laughter.

"You don't need me to hold your hand, do you?" he teased, remembering when he had had to do exactly that, when the bee had landed on Bucky's nose at Harker's Point.

"No," said Bucky, sliding his hand into Steve’s, nonetheless. "I don't _need_ it. But we can do it anyway."

Steve smiled, hyper-aware of Bucky's hand in his own, the texture of his skin, the weight of it. With his free hand, Bucky pointed to another cloud.

"That one looks like broken dreams and deep, dark secrets," he said drily.

"You're such a weirdo," said Steve, shaking his head.

They lay in silence for a while, simply enjoying lying together on the grass, until another bank of cloud lazily drifted over them. Suddenly, Bucky gave a filthy snigger. Steve looked over at him questioningly. With a smirk, Bucky pointed to one cloud that had a particularly, ah, interesting shape.

"What about _that_ one, Steve?" said Bucky. "What does _that_ one make you think of?"

Steve blushed as he stared up at the cloud Bucky had picked out. It looked, unmistakably, like male genitalia in a state of extreme excitement. There was a long stretch of cloud that mimicked the shaft of an erect penis, even with a little bump at the top as if it were circumcised, and at the bottom were two large lumps that looked like a pair of fuzzy balls. Steve floundered for words, well aware that he was getting flustered and that Bucky, the sadistic fuck, seemed to be enjoying watching Steve squirm.

"It looks like a dick," he said finally.

Bucky feigned an expression of shock, clapping a hand over his mouth as if stunned by Steve's vulgarity.

"My _God_!" said Bucky. "Get your mind out of the gutter! It's _obviously_ an eggplant next to some plums."

"It's a _dick_ ," repeated Steve firmly. "Just like _you're_ a dick."

"What's that?" said Bucky, as if he had not heard Steve properly, batting his eyelashes. "Something about you liking my dick?"

Steve shook his head, but he was unable to stop the smile that spread over his face when Bucky leaned over and kissed him gently.

They lost themselves in the taste of one another's lips, the clouds soon forgotten as they lay there under the oak tree, holding one another's hands gently, under the blue summer sky.

* * *

That night, after the sun sank below the horizon, the two of them retired to Bucky's room.

It was another hot summer night, so they threw open the window as far as it would go, in a vain attempt to lure in some semblance of a draught.

Presently, they were playing a game of Scrabble on the bedroom floor. When they had arrived back at the cottage that evening, Jemma had made them aware that there were board games in the lounge for them to borrow if they wished, and they had immediately seized the opportunity. Steve in particular was enjoying Scrabble. As a professional editor, words were his forte, and he was currently well and truly kicking Bucky's ass with a combination of obscure words and strategically placed tiles. They were nearing the end of their game, and Bucky was becoming increasingly irate at his unfortunate selection of letters.

"I've got seven vowels!" he whined. "This isn't fair!"

Steve fought to keep a straight face, not letting himself be broken by Bucky's adorable pout.

"That's life, Bucky," he said. "Sometimes life isn't fair."

"Shut up," said Bucky, placing down an "o" to form the word "on".

With a squeak of glee, Steve placed down his final tiles on both double and triple word squares, scoring 120 points with the word "jinx".

"Fuuuck," said Bucky, turning around the remainder of his tiles to reveal a string of "i"s. "You destroyed me."

Steve crowed with joy, before giving Bucky a cheeky wink.

"Consider it payback for all the times you've literally destroyed my ass," said Steve, smirking at the way his words immediately made Bucky lose his usual cool demeanour.

Bucky opened and closed his mouth several times, stunned into silence, before returning a smirk of his own, that now-familiar lustful glint forming in his eyes.

"Your ass doesn't seem too badly destroyed to me," said Bucky. "But maybe I should check it, just in case."

Steve's breath hitched, his cock instantly chubbing up at Bucky's words.

"Go stand at the window," said Bucky. "Hands on the windowsill, ass sticking out for me."

Steve shakily got to his feet, crossing over the room to the window and staring out at the village bathed in darkness. He did as Bucky instructed, leaning forwards, his hands on the windowsill, his ass sticking out invitingly for Bucky to examine. Across the street, he could just make out the vague outlines of the little gardens in front of the houses. Some of the houses had lights on inside, the windows glowing. Steve felt his cheeks burning, realising that he was just as visible in this position to anyone outside or across the street who cared to look in his direction. The bedroom light illuminated him like an exhibit in a museum, exposing him to the world outside.

_Click._

The room was plunged into darkness as Bucky switched off the bedroom light. Steve heard him approaching from behind, and suddenly Bucky's hand was groping at the swell of his ass, rubbing him through his shorts.

"Can't have the whole of Thornton-le-Dale seeing you like this," said Bucky, placing a kiss to the back of his neck. "We'd probably get arrested."

"Yeah," said Steve, unable to come up with anything more eloquent when Bucky's hand reached around and gave his cock a delicious squeeze, effectively short-circuiting his brain.

"Now that we're hidden though..." whispered Bucky. "Wanna fuck in front of the window?"

Steve was momentarily speechless, stunned by Bucky's daring proposal. Now that the bedroom light was off, there was little to no chance of anyone outside being able to see what they were doing. It still felt so taboo though, so thrilling, to think about fucking in front of the window, to look out at the street whilst Bucky ploughed him from behind, hidden by the darkness of the room but nevertheless able to see the world outside illuminated by starlight and the lamp post at the bottom of the street.

Bucky was still groping at his cock, his hand rubbing lewdly at the front of Steve's shorts. Steve was rock hard. He could feel himself leaking pre-come, his arousal so intense it was almost painful. He would never normally do this kind of thing. He was usually pretty vanilla. All that seemed to have been turned on its head the moment he had met Bucky, though. Since then, he had sixty-nined in public, been brutally, wonderfully fucked after just two minutes of prepping himself, and had sushi eaten off him like a fucking dining table. What was one more freaky fuck?

"Yeah," gasped Steve, pressing his ass back against Bucky's crotch. "Fuck me in front of the whole damn street."

"Jesus..." said Bucky.

For a moment, Bucky's warmth disappeared from behind him. Steve listened to the scrape of the bedside drawer being opened and closed, and soon Bucky returned, pressing against his back, reaching around and fumbling with the front of Steve's shorts. Steve did not move, simply leaning on the windowsill and looking out at the street as Bucky pulled down Steve's shorts and boxers in one go, his cock bouncing free, already fully erect and weeping from the tip. His heart was hammering with excitement. It felt obscene to have his cock out like this. If the lights were on, they would be in full view of anyone passing by. The thought was intoxicating.

There was a faint click as Bucky opened the bottle of lube, and then a slick finger was rubbing at his hole, teasing him by simply tracing lazily around the rim rather than pushing inside. Steve whined, pushing his ass back against Bucky's finger, trying to get him to slip inside. Bucky chuckled behind him, sounding amused by Steve's torment, giving his ass a little slap, and then giving him a much harder one, causing Steve to gasp slightly at the sting. Before he could recompose himself, Bucky's finger was pushing firmly into him, causing Steve's ass to burn from the friction, drawing a hiss from Steve's clenched teeth.

Bucky fucked him open with his finger, sawing in and out, stretching him and rubbing against his prostate until Steve was practically clinging to the windowsill for support, bent over at the waist, muffled moans escaping his lips every now and then.

"Keep looking outside," Bucky said breathlessly. "Look out at the street while I stretch your ass open for my cock."

Steve moaned, forcing himself to straighten up slightly so that he could look out of the window. The flowers in the front garden looked ghostly in the darkness, their vibrant colours muted and dull. In one of the houses down the road, the silhouette of a person was visible through the curtain. Steve was watching this silhouette when Bucky slowly inserted a second finger into Steve's ass, the burn making Steve's eyes water slightly, his ass stretching to accommodate the second finger. There was another squirt of lube, and then a third finger was forcing its way inside, causing Steve to gasp when Bucky curled all three of his fingers, rubbing against Steve's prostate so perfectly that Steve almost came right there and then.

Steve clamped his mouth shut, biting back his moans so that they would not float out of the open window and alert any of the neighbours as to what they were doing. He kept his eyes glued on the street, on the lights illuminating the windows of the houses opposite, before spreading his legs and sticking his ass out obscenely in invitation for Bucky to fuck. He heard Bucky groan at the filthy visual, the other man's fingers immediately pulling out of his ass. There was the rustle of a condom packet being ripped open, and a few seconds later, something thick and blunt was pressing at his slick opening.

Steve breathed out slowly as Bucky pushed in, his sphincter stretching wide to swallow Bucky's thick cock into his hungry depths. He clung onto the windowsill tightly, his gaze locked on the view outside the window as Bucky's huge cock slid all the way in, until he could feel coarse pubic hair pressed snug against his ass cheeks. He took a moment to simply revel in the feeling of being so totally stretched. Bucky's cock was filling him to his absolute limit. A guttural groan escaped his lips involuntarily.

"Quiet," whispered Bucky. "The window's open. People'll hear."

Steve clamped his mouth shut, desperately trying not to make a sound as Bucky started sliding in and out in slow, deep thrusts. His breathing was shaky, his cock rock hard. He was absolutely delirious with lust at the thought of doing something so filthy, so debauched, semi-publicly. His hands were sweaty. He wiped them briefly on his thighs, before grabbing hold of the windowsill again, just in time for Bucky to grip his hips and start ramming into him like a man possessed.

Steve felt his mouth fall open in shock as Bucky's cock started pounding into him harder and faster than he had ever been fucked in his life. Little moans were escaping his lips at every thrust, and then, Bucky changed the angle of penetration, causing him to slam directly against Steve's prostate, a loud moan bursting out of Steve before he could stop himself. Bucky paused mid-thrust, immediately reaching around to clamp a hand over Steve's mouth to muffle his noises.

"I said, _be quiet,_ " Bucky hissed darkly in his ear.

Steve's eyes widened as Bucky started fucking him hard once more, his hand over Steve's mouth silencing him effectively. Steve was dizzy with excitement. Bucky's cock was causing his pleasure to spiral higher with every delicious drag over his prostate. Bucky's hand on his mouth both managed to keep him quiet and was causing his submissive side to silently scream with debauched enjoyment. And looking out onto the street outside, the simultaneous thrill and fear that someone might walk along the pavement on a late-night stroll and look up and see them, was a headier aphrodisiac than Steve ever could have imagined.

Bucky's breathing was ragged in his ear. Steve was pushing back against Bucky's cock with as much desperation as Bucky was slamming into him. Their bodies were slick with sweat, the humidity of the air only adding to their exertion. It was then that Steve spotted, at the far end of the street, one of the locals standing in their front garden, smoking a cigarette. The man was facing away from Buttercup Cottage, so there was no way that he could see Steve and Bucky in the window – but nonetheless, the sudden reminder that they were really doing this, something so filthy in full view of passers-by, hidden only by the darkness of the night, was enough to push Steve over the edge.

He came hard, his semen spurting out and splattering onto the window in long, thick stripes. His pleasure throbbed through him, his excitement rising to a crescendo, the thrill of being right there in front of the window only adding to the intensity of his orgasm. Bucky came a few moments later, burying his face in Steve's neck as he filled the condom with his seed, muffling a moan into Steve's skin.

They came back to their senses slowly. Bucky removed his hand from Steve's mouth, his softening cock slipping from Steve's ass with a quiet pop.

And then, with the village still sleeping outside, they crept away from the window, and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HALFWAY: That was chapter 11 out of 22, which means we are now halfway through this saga! Thank you for your loyal readership and I hope you enjoy the second half as much as you have enjoyed the first!
> 
> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/625274301635018752/hot-summer-nights-chapter-11-the-games-we-play). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> THANK YOU: As always, thank you to everyone for reading and cheering along this fic. I appreciate your comments, kudos and love immensely.
> 
> THOUGHTS: What did you think of this chapter? Did you enjoy the sexy times? Did you like the Fitzsimmons adorableness? Are you just as disturbed as Steve to find that he only has three more days before he flies back to Boston? Please let me know in the comments section below! :D
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see them visit the beautiful coastal village of Robin Hood's Bay.
> 
> TUMBLR: I will be posting photos of Robin Hood's Bay on my Tumblr tomorrow evening. Make sure to give me a follow at [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) if you do not want to miss out on that!


	12. Robin Hood's Bay

The next morning, as they ate their breakfasts in the dining room, Steve felt a little restless.

In the back of his mind, he was becoming increasingly aware of the uncomfortable fact that his holiday was drawing to a close. He found himself resisting the idea. He did not feel ready to leave. He felt as though there was still so much more to explore – both in terms of physical locations, and whatever this thing was that he had developed with Bucky. He chewed on Leo's amazing signature bacon, barely tasting it, pushing his fork around his plate anxiously. Bucky was talking about some video game, but Steve was barely listening, his gaze wandering as freely as his attention.

It was then that his eyes fell on one of the many paintings that adorned the walls of Buttercup Cottage. It showed a coastal scene; a little village by the sea, with fishing boats floating in the calm blue water. Bucky seemed to notice that Steve's attention had drifted onto something behind him, and twisted around in his seat to see what Steve was looking at. When he saw the painting, he let out a hum of interest, apparently just as drawn to the quaint seaside scene as Steve.

"I wonder if it's a real place," said Bucky.

Steve had been wondering the exact same thing. At that moment, Leo entered the room, heading over to their table to collect their plates. Steve and Bucky smiled as they handed him their empty plates, complimenting him as always for the delicious food.

"Hey, we were wondering, do you know the name of the village in that painting?" asked Steve, pointing to the painting behind Bucky. "It's gorgeous. We were wondering if it's a real place."

Leo balanced the plates on his arm, walking over to examine the painting, a broad smile lighting up his face when he recognised it.

"Yeah, this is a real place!" he said. "It's a little seaside village not too far away from here: Robin Hood's Bay. It's beautiful. It's got these gorgeous little alleyways that criss-cross the village. And I think smugglers used to operate there, in the olden days. It's got a cool history."

Steve and Bucky exchanged looks of interest, their curiosity well and truly aroused.

"Would you recommend it for a day trip?" asked Bucky.

Leo nodded enthusiastically.

"Definitely!" he said. "It's small, but if you like that kind of thing, it's perfect. Make sure to explore all the alleyways between the houses – that's the most interesting part, for me."

They thanked him for his suggestion. Leo headed away with their empty plates to get started on the washing up. Steve turned to Bucky, a smile instantly curving his lips when he saw the same expression of wanderlust written plain across Bucky's features that Steve was feeling himself.

"Wanna go to Robin Hood's Bay?" said Steve.

Bucky grinned.

"Why the hell not."

* * *

They arrived at Robin Hood's Bay just under two hours later.

They stepped off the bus hot and sweaty, immediately sighing with relief when a refreshing breeze washed over them, cooling their skin. They stretched their arms and legs as the bus trundled off, thankful to be able to move freely once more, after being squashed in the vehicle for so long. Steve looked around, trying to get his bearings. They seemed to be in a quiet residential area, houses and gardens lining both sides of the street. The road sloped gently downwards in one direction, presumably towards the sea and the main part of the village. At that moment, he spotted a sign confirming his suspicions, pointing them in the direction of Robin Hood's Bay.

"That way," he said. "Let's go."

They headed in the direction indicated by the sign, walking down the sloping pavement and rounding a corner, before gasping, suddenly confronted by a breath-taking view. They had emerged at the top of a cliff. From here, they could see calm blue ocean waves stretching out all the way to the horizon. A single road led down to the little village of Robin Hood's Bay, the landscape sloping downwards until it met the coastline, a mishmash of houses clinging to the uneven ground. A long, sandy beach was visible at the bottom, peppered with rock pools, where families and dog walkers were enjoying the beautiful sunny day. They took a moment to simply stand there and absorb the stunning view, the sea breeze ruffling their hair, the sound of seagulls squawking floating on the wind.

"Wow..." murmured Bucky.

He sounded just as awestruck as Steve felt. Steve nodded in wordless agreement. Robin Hood's Bay was, quite simply, one of the most beautiful places he had ever seen in his life. The painting on the wall of Buttercup Cottage did not do it justice. He fished his mobile phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture. It was mainly for Natasha's benefit; Steve knew he would not forget this view for the rest of his life.

After they had thoroughly enjoyed the cliff top view, they began making their way down the sloping road. It did not take them long to reach the main section of the village, soon coming upon the first cluster of quaint little cottages branching out off the main road. Bucky suddenly gave a hum of interest, pointing to a little pathway that ran behind the houses. Steve looked at where he was pointing. It seemed to be a public pathway, with no signs telling people it was private property.

"Do you think this is one of the alleyways that Leo was talking about?" said Bucky.

Steve's eyes widened with interest.

"Ooh, yes!" he said. "Could be. Let's see where it goes."

Joining hands, they made their way along the path, peering curiously at the backs of the houses as they passed. It was strange, to be able to simply walk by and look into people's windows, catching little glimpses into their lives – but somehow, it added to the mystic, almost fairy tale-like appeal of the little village. At the end of the path, there was a little archway that led them through a narrow gap between two houses. Steve and Bucky exchanged curious looks, before smiling, squeezing through the archway and finding themselves in yet another alleyway.

This one felt even more secret and enclosed. There were houses clustered in on both sides, sheltering them from the wind and the sound of the sea. They walked slowly down the alleyway, finding little wonders every couple of metres. The residents had transformed the alleyway from a simple path to a hidden place of beauty. There were gorgeous hanging baskets full of flowers, little statues of gnomes and fairies, children's paintings proudly displayed in the windows. They reached the end of the alleyway, only to find themselves at a kind of crossroads, four separate little pathways converging and then branching out in different directions. Steve wondered if this confusing warren of hidden pathways had helped the smugglers of the past evade capture.

On a whim, they chose the path that seemed to have the twistiest, most eccentric shape. They zigzagged along, falling totally in love with the quirky vibe, marvelling at the gorgeous little gardens that lined this hidden stretch of alleyway, when they emerged onto a sudden plateau that faced the sea, gasping at the abrupt sea view, blue waves on a blue sky. They stayed there for a while, entranced by the beauty of the view, enamoured by the way this narrow alleyway had ended so unexpectedly. Eventually, they made their way back, only to choose another alleyway, then another, then another.

They descended their way through the village like this, sticking to the hidden alleyways that snaked between the houses, having no need to use the main road or the official pavement that ran alongside it. It was a stunning, unique and beautiful way to see the village of Robin Hood's Bay. Steve could think of no other place like it. An alleyway could contain a garden, a little patio, a row of plant pots, or simply beautiful cobbles. Occasionally, they would be treated to a surprise sea view, the beauty of it taking their breath away. On some of the cottages, it would say the year that they had been built, with many of the houses being several hundreds of years old. The whole place had a rich sense of history. Steve felt, too, that the village had witnessed many secrets within its hidden passageways, and he delighted in the sense of mystery.

Eventually, they emerged onto the main road, slightly disoriented to be back to regular tarmac after their exploration of the hidden passageways. They wandered around for a while, finding a stream that ran through the centre of the village and deciding to follow it. After several minutes of walking, Steve spotted a little sign for a family-run cafe that promised the best ice creams in Yorkshire, elbowing Bucky to get his attention and pointing to it.

"Want to grab an ice cream?" said Steve.

Bucky's gaze zeroed in on the sign, his eyes crinkling into a grin when he read it.

"Well, I guess if they're the best ice creams in Yorkshire..." he said.

They squeezed into the tiny cafe, ordering their ice creams at the counter and then heading outside to sit at one of the round wooden tables in the pretty little garden outside. They sat down, surrounded by hanging baskets full of flowers, licking their ice creams happily in the sun. Steve had chosen strawberry flavour; Bucky, vanilla. The delicious fruity tang of strawberry coated Steve's tongue, making him smile.

"We should go down to the sea," said Bucky, after a while.

Steve nodded, making no effort to move just yet, though.

"In a minute," he said. "Let's enjoy this first."

They sat there for a little while longer, absorbing the view, savouring their surroundings, enjoying the simple pleasure of eating ice cream in the sunshine in a picturesque little English village. Steve reached out across the table and held Bucky's hand.

He wished the moment could last forever.

* * *

They went down to the sea.

The beach at Robin Hood's Bay was long and sandy, peppered with rock pools and seashells. Presently, they were walking towards the water's edge, shoes stowed in their rucksacks, their bare feet sinking slightly in the soft sand.

"I love the sea!" Bucky said excitedly. "Wanna go swimming? I bet the water's warm!"

Steve hummed uncertainly. He was, by nature, a cautious man. He did not generally like swimming in the sea. Perhaps it was his job as an editor, but he always envisioned some terrible drama unfolding, like getting swept out to sea by a rip tide or accidentally swimming into a bloom of jellyfish.

"No, thanks," he said. "I'd rather not."

"Suit yourself," said Bucky, before letting out a holler of excitement as he charged towards the waves.

Looking back, neither of them could quite pinpoint what caused Bucky to trip, but one moment, he was running joyfully towards the sea, and the next, his arms were pinwheeling madly as he lost his balance, before crashing face-first into the sea in an ungainly belly flop. For a moment, Steve's heart was in his mouth with fear as he lost sight of Bucky beneath the waves, but to his immense relief, Bucky stood up almost immediately, now soaking wet from head to toe, a look of outrage on his face.

"It's _cold!_ " howled Bucky. "What the _fuck?!_ "

Steve could not help it. For some reason, the sight of Bucky glaring so angrily at the unexpectedly cold sea, a piece of seaweed clinging happily to his sopping wet hair, was hilarious. He let out a roar of laughter, bending over at the waist as he was overcome by mirth, Bucky's resulting pout only making the whole thing even funnier. He could not stop laughing, tears of joy rolling down his cheeks as he laughed helplessly at Bucky's predicament. He was snapped out of it when a wet piece of seaweed was flung at his face in revenge, immediately triggering in Steve the urge for a play fight.

"Oh, you want to be like that?" he said, cocking an eyebrow.

Hesitating only a second to check there was no dreaded rip tide, he joined Bucky in the shallow water, kicking his leg to spray Bucky with sea water. The water was indeed deceptively cold, seemingly unaffected by the heatwave. Bucky struck back immediately, plunging his arms into the water and splashing a huge wave over Steve. Steve spluttered, shocked to be so suddenly drenched to the skin, before grinning. Now that he was fully wet, there was nothing to hold him back. He could hardly get any wetter, so he kicked his legs out and spun his arms like a windmill, sending over an impressive amount of water to soak Bucky.

"Geronimo!" yelled Bucky, flopping deliberately into the water this time, causing a wave to spray all over Steve.

The water fight went on for a while, both of them laughing at the joyfulness and silliness of it, even attracting some giggles and shouts of encouragement from the locals. Finally, however, they were forced to concede the game when they both became too cold. Reluctantly, they left the water, before walking slowly down the long beach, letting the summer sun dry them as they strolled along.

Steve tilted his face up to the sun, closing his eyes for a second and smiling as he was warmed by the summer rays. He was so thankful that they had decided to come to Robin Hood's Bay. The day was turning out to be beautiful, quirky and fun. It had been years since he had last had a water fight. He was totally relaxed, and blissfully happy. It was turning out to be the perfect day. Just then, Bucky paused, bending down to pick up something from the beach. Steve stopped too, trying to see what Bucky was examining. After a second, Bucky smiled, showing Steve what he had picked up in his outstretched hand. In Bucky's palm was a beautiful piece of frosted, translucent green glass, its edges made smooth by the waves.

"Check it out," said Bucky.

Steve examined it appreciatively. He wondered how old the glass was. It must have been in the sea for a while, since it was completely round and smooth, like a pebble. He ran his finger along it, admiring the gorgeous green hue, delighted that Bucky had found something so simple yet beautiful.

"That's so cool," he said.

"Let's see what else we can find," said Bucky. "Pretty rocks, sea glass, seashells, whatever... Me and my sisters used to love that kind of thing when we were kids."

They wandered along slowly, looking carefully at the ground in search of any other little treasures they might find. Over the next half an hour, they found sea glass in green, blue and white; broken seashells with iridescent insides; and a multitude of colourful little stones made smooth by the force of the waves. Whenever they found something, they would pick it up for the other to admire, before placing it back where they found it, not wanting to disturb the natural order of the beach.

A seagull was squawking loudly overhead when Steve spotted something white amongst the sand. He paused, bending down to tug it gently from the beach, marvelling as it came into view. He had found a perfect seashell, its geometric grooves bleached white by the sun. He blew the sand off it carefully, before showing it to Bucky, whose eyes immediately lit up with excitement.

"Make a wish!" said Bucky.

"Huh?" said Steve, confused.

"In my family, we have this tradition where if you find a perfect shell, you have to make a wish and then throw it into the sea," explained Bucky. "Then it'll come true."

Steve smiled.

"Never thought you'd believe in superstitious bullshit like that," he teased.

Bucky glared in response.

"Just shut up and make a wish!"

Steve looked down at the shell in his hand. What should he wish for? What did he want, more than anything else in the world? The answer dawned on him slowly, terrifying in its truthfulness yet completely, unmistakably, what his heart truly yearned for. He wanted to carry on this thing with Bucky, whatever it was. He liked him, a lot, and he was not ready to simply say goodbye in two days' time and never see him again. The mere thought of this all being over in 48 hours sent pure horror shooting through his chest. He could not bear it. Over the last twelve days, he had fallen hard for Bucky – perhaps, dare he say it, even fallen in love. He wished, more than anything, that they could continue their relationship, or whatever the hell it was, beyond these fourteen precious days that he had got to spend in England.

Closing his eyes, he held the seashell in his hand and silently made his wish.

_I wish for Bucky._

_I wish for Bucky._

_I wish for Bucky._

Exhaling slowly, he pitched his arm back and threw the seashell into the sea, instantly losing sight of it as it sank below the waves.

* * *

That evening, back at Buttercup Cottage, they showered together.

They squeezed in under the shower head and turned the temperature to lukewarm, letting the cool water banish some of the stifling heat that had built up in the cottage over the day. Steve's gaze trailed down Bucky's body as the water washed over him, watching the way it flowed through his chest hair and formed rivers down his body. Unable to resist, he placed his mouth on Bucky's shoulder and planted a kiss there, sucking gently at the sensitive skin. Bucky hummed appreciatively, his eyes closing as Steve sucked a small hickey there, one hand coming to settle on Steve's hip, a thumb running over his hip bone.

"Not that I don't love having your lips on me, but can we actually have a shower?" said Bucky apologetically, after a while. "I feel kind of sandy and gross."

Steve chuckled, removing his mouth from Bucky's skin and nodding, passing over the shower gel. They washed off the sand and sea salt from their bodies, instantly feeling more comfortable and refreshed as the gritty residue was washed off their skin and down the drain. Once they were clean, they stayed under the cool spray of the water a while longer, enjoying the feeling of running water on their skin. Steve's eyes raked down Bucky's body once more, his cock chubbing up as he drank in the sight of Bucky's nudity. Feeling a little frisky, Steve squirted some extra shower gel onto his hands, signalling for Bucky to turn around. Bucky cocked his head to the side with confusion.

"I want to give you a little massage," said Steve. "If you're up for it?"

Bucky smirked, turning around and giving Steve a cheeky wink over his shoulder.

"It's cute how you can't resist me," said Bucky.

Rubbing the slippery shower gel over his hands, Steve began firmly massaging Bucky's shoulders, drawing a long, low moan from the other man's lips. He took his time massaging him thoroughly, carefully, paying him all the attention he deserved. Bucky had some tension in his shoulders, so Steve concentrated patiently on the stiff muscles until they began to soften and relax under his hands, Bucky letting out another muffled moan at the release of tension.

Steve pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, before moving on with his massage, rubbing down each of Bucky's arms sensually, before turning his focus to Bucky's back. He had not realised until then just what an attractive back Bucky had. It was muscular and toned and perfect for running his hands over. Steve swept his fingers along the broad planes of muscle and massaged them firmly, slowly making his way downwards, until he ended up kneeling on the floor of the shower, his face suddenly level with Bucky's ass.

The water was trickling down Bucky's body in such a way that the swell of his ass cheeks channelled the flow of water between them. It was a mesmerising visual. Suddenly feeling daring, Steve gripped Bucky's ass cheeks and spread them apart, drawing a surprised gasp from above him. He stared hungrily at Bucky's exposed hole, watching the way the water flowed over it, almost teasingly, like a caress. It felt obscene, to be looking at Bucky's most intimate place like this, at eye-level, all spread out and on display, the tight furl of muscle a dusky shade of pink.

Steve gazed at his hole, entranced by the beauty of it. The water was flowing over it, bathing it in clean, fresh water. Leaning forwards, Steve licked it tentatively, relishing the way it twitched in response. He was not usually a huge fan of rimming, but like this, it felt more comfortable. It was clean, the water constantly bathing it, making it taste just like any other part of Bucky's body. Spreading Bucky's cheeks further apart to give him better access, Steve began rimming him in earnest, lavishing his hole with attention, licking it, tonguing it, sucking it gently, even penetrating him slightly with the tip of his tongue, drawing a strangled moan from Bucky's lips.

Letting go of one of Bucky's ass cheeks, Steve reached around and wrapped a hand around Bucky's cock. He was rock hard, thick and erect, the slickness of pre-come evident when Steve began running his hand up and down the shaft. By now, Steve was also fully erect, his cock bobbing between his legs as he munched hungrily at Bucky's hole. And then, Bucky bent over at the waist, bracing himself against the tiles, before _winking_ his ass hole at Steve, deliberately tightening and relaxing his muscles rhythmically. Steve stared at the debauched sight, his heart hammering with shock and lust as Bucky flexed his hole open and closed for him.

His self-control snapped. He scrambled to his feet, crowding against Bucky from behind, pressing him against the cool tiles, rubbing his cock in the valley between Bucky's ass cheeks. Bucky moaned as he felt Steve's cock rubbing against his hole, his head tipping back and resting on Steve's shoulder, his eyes closed, his mouth open with lust. Steve nipped aggressively at his neck, grinding against Bucky, their bodies slick beneath the water that was still cascading down on them.

"Bedroom," mumbled Bucky. "More comfortable on a bed."

They switched off the shower, barely able to keep their hands off one another as they staggered into the bedroom, kissing and groping. Steve pushed Bucky onto the bed as soon as they were close enough, immediately climbing on top of him and pressing him against the mattress, kissing him hard. They were still damp from the shower, but Steve could not bring himself to care. Right now, he needed Bucky's body like a man dying from thirst. He kissed him hungrily, one hand snaking between their bodies and wrapping around Bucky's cock, jerking him off and causing him to gasp with pleasure.

After a moment, Bucky batted Steve's hand away from his cock, before grinding his erection up against Steve's, their hard shafts rubbing together. Both of them were leaking pre-come, the slick sticky mess smearing on their abdomens. They moaned. It was delicious, but it was not enough. From the moment Steve had spread open Bucky's ass cheeks in the shower, Steve had known what he wanted tonight. He did not usually top, but Bucky was simply too gorgeous not to fuck. He wanted to fuck Bucky, to slide his cock into Bucky's tight, perfect ass – now, tonight, whilst he still had the chance.

"On all fours," panted Steve, lifting himself off Bucky to give him the space to move.

Bucky obeyed immediately, rolling over onto his front and then lifting himself up onto all fours, arching his back as he presented his ass for Steve's viewing pleasure. Steve groaned at the incredible sight – the pert, firm roundness of Bucky's ass taking his erection from simply hard, to _Jesus Christ, got to get in there, right fucking now._

He reached for the bedside drawer, fishing out the lube and immediately squirting some onto his fingers. Parting Bucky's cheeks carefully, he rubbed the tip of his index finger against Bucky's entrance, playing with it, his hungry gaze zeroing in on Bucky's hole, so tight and enticing. Slowly, he pushed his finger inside, licking his lips with excitement as he watched Bucky's rim stretch to accommodate the digit, the tight pressure of it squeezing him hard. He began pumping his finger in and out, his cock twitching at the delicious gasps, whimpers and mewls that the action drew from Bucky's lips. Perhaps embarrassed by his noises, Bucky buried his face in the pillow, nevertheless keeping his ass stuck up in the air as Steve fucked him increasingly hard with his finger.

Once Steve was sure Bucky was comfortable, one finger quickly became two, stretching him and coating his walls with lube. Steve scissored his fingers a little, stretching him even further, hypnotised by the way Bucky's rim was getting looser and looser, a fine tremble running through Bucky's body as Steve thoroughly prepped his hole. When he finally curled his fingers and rubbed against Bucky's prostate, Bucky slammed his fist into the bed, letting out a little howl into the pillow.

"Fuck me!"

Steve did not need telling twice. He grabbed a condom, squeezing the air carefully out of the tip, before rolling it down to the base of his cock. Lining himself up with Bucky's hole, he pushed the head of his dick inside, before grabbing hold of Bucky's hips and slowly pulling him back onto his long, thick cock. He closed his eyes, ecstasy coursing through him as the tight squeeze of Bucky's ass enveloped his cock. Bucky felt incredible: hot, tight, slick. Steve knew he would not last long inside such an exquisite ass, and so he intended to make the most of it while he could. Steve waited a few moments to make sure Bucky was comfortable, before setting a brutal pace, using his hands on Bucky's hips as leverage to push and pull him exactly how he wanted.

Bucky buried his face in the pillow as Steve fucked him, muffling his moans as he got ploughed hard and fast. Steve fucked him like a madman, losing himself in the pleasure of being squeezed tight by such a beautiful ass, his balls slapping loudly against Bucky's with every thrust. Every plunge was harder and rougher than the last, until the bed was shaking from the force of their fucking, the mattress squeaking wildly beneath them.

"Fuck, yeah," moaned Bucky. "Fuck me as rough as you want. Talk dirty to me. Tell me how much you like making me your slut."

Steve moaned. Who knew Bucky had such a submissive side? Steve did not usually partake in dirty talk, but if Bucky got off on it, he could turn on the filth as well as the next man.

"You like being filled up by my big cock, slut?" he said, ramming in deep to emphasise his point. "You like having your slutty ass stretched out like this?"

Bucky keened high in his throat, nodding frantically, grabbing hold of his ass cheeks and holding them open, as if trying to take Steve even deeper inside him.

"Yes, yes, yes!" he said. "Oh, fuck, I might come just from you fucking me. Use my hole, please, oh God, don't hold back, fuck me harder, harder! _Steve_..."

Steve gripped Bucky's hips even tighter, unleashing every bit of lust that had been bubbling up inside him ever since he had feasted his eyes on Bucky's hole in the shower. He fucked him wildly, violently, pounding into him with every ounce of strength he possessed, his orgasm rushing up to meet him as he used Bucky the way he wanted to be used: hard, rough, brutal. Bucky was loving it, a mantra of _yes yes yes_ cascading from his lips as Steve destroyed his ass, the stench of sex and sweat and pre-come filling the air.

Bucky came first, completely untouched, pressing his face into the pillow as he screamed, his ass clenching around Steve's cock as he began to come, shooting his load all over the rumpled bed sheets. Bucky's pleasure catapulted Steve into his own, his cock swelling and then spasming wildly, his orgasm pulsing through him rhythmically as he buried himself to the hilt, filling the condom almost to bursting point with a huge, thick load of come.

Afterwards, curled up in bed in one another's arms, they kissed gently, and it was like that that they fell asleep, the chirping of crickets outside the only noise to break the silence as they slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/625906237014523904/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3
> 
> ROBIN HOOD'S BAY PHOTOS: I have shared [these photos of Robin Hood's Bay](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/625358313923756032/hot-summer-nights-locations-robin-hoods-bay) on my Tumblr, if you want to see a little of what it looks like in real life :)
> 
> ROBIN HOOD'S BAY: Everything I've described about Robin Hood's Bay in this chapter is true: the gorgeous narrow alleyways between the houses, the little stream that runs through it, the lovely long beach with its seashells and pretty stones, the fascinating history of smuggling. Are any readers from/familiar with Robin Hood's Bay? If so, I hope you enjoyed its inclusion in this fic! I absolutely love Robin Hood's Bay and definitely recommend it as a place to visit to people who have never been there before!
> 
> THANK YOU: This fic has developed a group of fairly regular commenters - so to you, I say thank you! Hearing your wonderful feedback and excitement every week gives me so much happiness and motivation as a writer <3
> 
> THOUGHTS: Did you enjoy this virtual visit to Robin Hood's Bay? Do you think Steve's wish (i.e. that he and Bucky will get to continue their relationship/fling/whatever it is, after the end of their holiday) will come true? Did you enjoy the sweet fluffiness and the filthy rough sex? As always, please let me know your thoughts in the comments section below ;)
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be Steve's penultimate day in the UK! There will be fun at the village fair, and Steve will have another Skype call with his best friend Natasha...
> 
> TUMBLR: Are you on Tumblr? Do you want to get updates on my writing, extra teasers and see gorgeous Marvel fanart? Feel free to give me a follow at [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) if that sounds interesting to you! <3


	13. The Village Fête

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A helpful note for non-British English speakers:
> 
> British English = aubergine  
> American English = eggplant

It was Steve's last full day in the UK.

He woke up feeling melancholy, painfully aware that tomorrow evening, he would be boarding a plane back to Boston, heading back to his one-bedroom apartment and his normal, boring life. He could not believe how quickly time had slipped by. It was staggering to think that he had arrived in England just thirteen days before. So much had happened since then, and yet time had flown by so quickly that it simultaneously felt as though he had been there for the longest time and that no time had passed at all. He did not want to go home. He did not want to leave. He did not want it to end – and yet, tomorrow, it would.

He did not want to spend his last full day miserable, so he firmly pushed those niggling thoughts away and put on a fake smile.

About quarter of an hour later, when Bucky woke up and kissed him, that smile became genuine.

And then, when Bucky made his way down the bed and began sucking Steve's dick, that smile (and other things) got a hell of a lot bigger.

* * *

A little while later, when they went downstairs, they found Jemma and Leo looking excitedly at a poster that had apparently just been dropped off by one of the locals.

They beckoned Steve and Bucky over the moment they saw them emerging from the bottom of the staircase, turning the poster around for them to see.

**_Thornton-le-Dale annual village_ ** **_fête_ **

_Fun, games and entertainment for all the family!_

_Bowls, a coconut shy, maypole dancing, Morris dancing, cake stalls, amateur scarecrow competition, children's disco and more!_

_All money raised will be donated to the RSPCA (Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, registered charity no. 219099 in England and Wales)._

"Do you guys want to go to a traditional English village fête?" said Jemma. "It's happening today!"

"Yeah, it's a cool cultural experience," said Leo. "You get to see all the weird things that English people traditionally do for fun!"

"It's not _weird_ , it's quaint!" said Jemma, looking slightly offended. "Name one weird thing that's happening at today's fête!"

Leo cocked his eyebrow, unflinching in the face of Jemma's bristling glare.

"Morris dancing," he said. "Middle-aged people attach bells to their knees, wear straw hats and colourful ribbons, and hit one another with sticks. That's not a dance, that's just rude! How is that _not_ weird?"

"Ignore my confused Scottish boyfriend," said Jemma with faux sweetness, turning her back on Leo to speak to Steve and Bucky instead. "English fêtes _definitely_ aren't weird. So, will you be going?"

By this point, Steve and Bucky were both fighting back giggles at Jemma and Leo's adorable argument, struggling to keep a straight face as they nodded.

"Yeah, that sounds really awesome!" said Steve.

"Definitely not weird at all," added Bucky.

Jemma's eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion at Bucky's comment, but she let it slide, pursing her lips and chivvying them on towards the dining room. One breakfast and thirty minutes later, Steve and Bucky were exiting the front door of Buttercup Cottage, heading left towards the village green, where the fête was taking place. As they walked, they passed ribbons and bunting festooning the streets, attached to lamp posts, gates, and in people's front gardens. The whole village seemed to have embraced the fête spirit, and on their short journey they managed to spot about a dozen or so Yorkshire flags – a white rose on a light blue background – hanging from people's windows.

As they got closer to the village green, they became aware of a deep, rhythmical thumping. As they continued walking, Steve realised that it was music, the deep bass reverberating through the ground from the sound system. Soon, they turned the corner, their gaze finally falling upon the village green, gasping at the transformation. What had been an empty green space was now bustling with activity. There were tables of homemade baked goods for sale, various games set up for people to play, and beyond that, a tall maypole had been erected, a crowd slowly gathering around its base.

Steve instantly felt himself smiling as he was drawn into the party atmosphere. People of all ages had turned up to attend the fête. Jolly music was pumping from the sound system. Children were running around happily on the grass, screeching with excitement. Dotted around everywhere were donation boxes for the RSPCA, to support their work as an animal rescue charity. Steve pulled out his wallet and slid a couple of £5 notes into the nearest donation box, before grabbing Bucky by the arm, pointing towards the maypole, where more and more people were beginning to gather.

"Let's check out what's going on over there," said Steve.

Bucky nodded enthusiastically in agreement, looking around in wide-eyed wonder, apparently just as fascinated and excited by this delightful village fête as Steve was. They squeezed their way past the bake sales and games, joining the crowd that had gathered in a wide circle around the maypole, peering over people's heads to see what was going on.

The maypole was about three metres tall, with long colourful ribbons tied to the top and trailing all the way down to ground level, where about a dozen children were holding the ends, spread out in a circle around the pole. They were dressed all in white, with straw hats adorned with ribbon and flowers, every single one of them looking excited as they each clutched their length of ribbon. They seemed to be waiting for something, and as Steve watched, the pop music that had been pumping through the speakers stopped. The hubbub of the crowd died down to a hushed silence, the excitement palpable in the air. Steve found himself holding his breath along with the rest of the crowd, bouncing on his toes with suspense and anticipation.

Live folk music began to play – fiddles, accordions and melodeons setting an energetic pace as the children began to dance around the maypole. Steve watched, wide-eyed, as the children weaved around one another in intricate patterns, winding the ribbons around one another as they went, forming beautiful geometric shapes that were almost like a work of art. The crowd began to clap in time with the music, and Steve and Bucky found themselves joining in, completely swept up in the moment, filled with joy at being immersed in such a special, traditional part of English culture.

Over the next half an hour, the children performed about ten maypole dances. Each one was a delight, the ribbons forming different shapes with each dance. Steve did not know which felt more satisfying to watch: the ribbons wrapping around the maypole in beautiful patterns, or the sense of order and organisation that came at the end of each dance when the children unwrapped the ribbons by doing the dance in reverse to end up in their starting positions. There was something so beautifully simple about it that Steve adored. He wondered how many generations of children in Thornton-le-Dale had danced around this very maypole. The thought warmed him in a pure, wholesome way that made him smile.

Eventually, the performance came to an end, the crowd applauding and cheering enthusiastically as the children bowed and curtsied. Steve found himself applauding just as loudly as everyone else, Bucky doing the same beside him. They barely had time to mentally absorb the maypole dance, however, before the folk band began playing again. The crowd turned around in confusion when the jingling of bells sounded out from behind them. During the maypole dance, a troupe of Morris dancers had somehow managed the sneak up behind the crowd, and they were starting to dance.

Steve grinned, immediately understanding why Leo had been so adamant that Morris dancing was one of the stranger parts of English tradition. There were about twenty dancers in total, all middle-aged to elderly men dressed in wooden clogs, matching white shirts and trousers, light blue braces that crossed over at the back and the chest, and grey top hats adorned with the same light blue ribbon as the Yorkshire flag. Attached to their knees were jingle bells, meaning that with every step and hop, they would chime merrily, a musical instrument in and of itself. In the dancers' hands were wooden sticks about half a metre long, and as the dancers began their jig, skipping in circles and hopping backwards and forwards, they would occasionally strike sticks with another dancer, the rhythmical wooden knocks forming yet another part of the musical medley.

As they danced, Steve slowly felt himself being drawn into the spectacle. Once he got over the strange appearance of the performers, he began to see the beauty of the dance. It was a simple, joyous thing – not particularly complex in choreography, yet full of rhythm, passion and soul. He found himself tapping his foot in time with the jolly music, particularly enjoying the drum-like beat of the wooden sticks whenever the dancers would face one another and strike them together in a pattern of three: _clunk clunk clunk_. By the time the Morris dancers had finished their first dance, Steve was fully on board, clapping and cheering as loudly as the rest.

The Morris dancers performed several more dances, and by the time they were finished, Steve was shocked to find that almost two hours had passed since they had first arrived at the fête. As the Morris dancers bowed, the crowd slowly began to disperse, fanning out in different directions to check out the other attractions. Steve and Bucky began wandering around the village green, simply enjoying being immersed in the jovial atmosphere and quirky sense of community. Towards the edge of the village green, Steve's eye was caught by something bright and colourful. Nudging Bucky to draw his attention, he pointed out the strange shape, before the two of them headed over in its direction. As they drew closer, Bucky laughed, his face lighting up with boy-like glee.

"Oh my God, they're scarecrows!" said Bucky.

As they drew level with the bizarre feature, Steve realised that Bucky was right. There were about a dozen novelty scarecrows that had obviously been handmade by the villagers for the fête. A banner next to them proudly proclaimed that it was the 100th annual charity scarecrow competition in Thornton-le-Dale, a statement which made Steve grin with pure joy.

"Just a £1 donation to the RSPCA will buy you a vote for your favourite scarecrow!" said the young woman standing next to the display, looking at them with excitement.

They nodded politely and walked around to admire the scarecrows more closely, impressed by the variety and creativity on display. The colourful one that had drawn Steve's attention in the first place was obviously meant to be a surfer, complete with an outrageously bright floral shirt, neon green hat and inflatable pink paddle board. He was gazing at it appreciatively when Bucky gave a wheeze from beside him.

"Oh my God, is that a _drag queen_ scarecrow?" said Bucky, gawping at the one at the end of the row.

Steve's eyes widened as he saw it. It had faded men's jeans on its legs, along with a large aubergine hanging provocatively from the belt, right over the crotch. Its top half was even more shocking, with a knitted bright pink bra, an impressive tower of fake curly hair, and a rainbow flag draped around its shoulders with the words "Slay, Queen!" embroidered in blue, purple and pink. His eyes bugged out of his head as he stared at it, simultaneously impressed and astonished to see it in a quaint English fête.

"Wow..." said Steve. "That's something else."

Bucky had already moved on to examine the next scarecrow, cooing at its adorableness. Steve immediately felt himself smiling when he saw it. It was not pretending to be a human like the rest, but instead was in the shape of a sleeping cat curled up peacefully on the ground. A little cardboard sign was propped up in front of it, bearing the navy-blue logo of the RSPCA and the words _Rescue Is The Best Breed!_

"I want to adopt a cat one day," said Bucky wistfully. "When I move into a bigger place, I'm going straight to the local animal shelter."

Steve smiled, the image of Bucky at home snuggled up with a cat making him feel all kinds of squishy emotions in his chest.

They moved along the line of scarecrows, looking at them in delight, snapping a few photos of the funniest ones. As well as the surfer, drag queen and cat, there was also a superhero, a child in an old school uniform (made by pupils at the local primary school), a fairy, an artist covered in paint, a farmer, and what appeared to be someone in a state of intoxication, surrounded by empty wine bottles. The amount of effort that had gone into making all the different scarecrows was obvious. They were quirky, unique, and altogether wonderful. Slipping two £1 coins into the donation box, they cast their votes for their favourites: Steve, the drag queen; Bucky, the cat.

They moved on, continuing to wander around the village green, marvelling at its transformation from empty green space to party central. Next, they came upon the games area. There seemed to be several games going on simultaneously: two serious games of bowls, and a bizarre game that Steve had never seen before in his life, involving six coconuts held aloft on little poles. He stared at the coconuts, uncomprehending, Bucky looking just as confused beside him. The man who was supervising the coconut stand saw them looking and smiled, gesturing them over.

"Do you fancy a game?" said the man. "Just £3 a go! All donations help the sweet animals being looked after by the RSPCA!"

"Uh..." said Steve, not quite sure how to reveal his stupidity and ask the obvious question.

Bucky, it seemed, had no such reservations.

"It looks really cool, but like... What the hell is this game?" he said.

The man's eyes widened with astonishment, as if Bucky had just asked him a deeply shocking question.

"You guys don't have coconut shies in America?" he said, amazed. At Steve and Bucky's blank stares, he chuckled, pointing to the coconuts balanced on their poles. "It's easy. Just stand back three metres, and try to knock the coconuts off the stumps with a ball. You get three tries. If you manage it, you win the coconut!"

Steve grinned. It sounded fun. He had no particular need for a coconut, but if he won one, perhaps Jemma or Leo could incorporate it into one of their meals.

"I'm in," he said. "£3, did you say?"

The man nodded. One more donation to the RSPCA later, Steve was standing three metres back from the coconuts, feeling the weight of the ball in his hand. Leaning back slightly, he pitched the ball towards the central coconut, letting out a hiss of frustration as he missed by a hair's breadth. A small crowd of onlookers gave a collective "Ooh!" of sympathy, before quietening down as Steve gathered himself for a second attempt. The second ball managed to clip the side of the coconut, causing it to wobble but not quite fall from its perch. Just before Steve's final attempt, Bucky leaned in and murmured quietly in his ear.

"You're tensing up too much before the throw," said Bucky. "Try to relax, like you do before taking my cock up your ass."

Steve blushed hard, barely able to aim as he let loose with his final attempt, Bucky's words having well and truly thrown him off balance. The ball arced high through the air, before hitting the central coconut squarely in the middle, causing it to topple to the ground. The surrounding spectators immediately cheered with excitement, Steve staring in astonishment as the coconut man reached down and handed over the coconut to Steve.

"Congratulations!" he said, winking. "Whatever your friend said, it obviously helped!"

Steve firmly ignored the shit-eating smirk that immediately settled on Bucky's features at the man's words, taking the coconut graciously and shaking the man's hand before walking away. Bucky snickered beside him as Steve put the coconut away in his bag.

"Maybe I should become a motivational speaker," mused Bucky. "If talking about my beautiful cock can win you a coconut, imagine how I could scale that up into a business!"

"Bucky," said Steve, pretending to be cross. "Behave!"

Laughing, they made their way to the final area of the village green that they had not yet properly explored. They were back where they had started, at the homemade cake stalls. Mouths watering at the delicious spread, they perused the offerings, the sweet scent wafting upwards and making their stomachs rumble. There were brownies, cupcakes, cookies, doughnuts and swirls. Every type of filling, flavour and icing imaginable seemed to be available: chocolate, raspberry, orange, vanilla, lemon. Steve and Bucky found themselves drawn to the table at the end where a teenage girl was manning a stall by herself. The quality of her cupcakes was astonishing, with truly beautiful ornate icing on the top. They looked almost professional in quality.

"Did you make all these by yourself?" asked Steve.

The girl nodded shyly, her cheeks going pink when Steve and Bucky both hummed, impressed.

"Yeah," she said. "I love baking. I've been baking since I was ten."

"These look incredible," said Steve. "What would you recommend?"

The girl looked surprised at Steve's question, but regained her composure quickly.

"Um... The chocolate cupcakes are my favourite," she said. "They've got this rich chocolate sauce in the middle which is really juicy."

"I'll buy one!" said Bucky.

"Make that four," said Steve, his gaze flicking over to Bucky. "We can take back one each for Jemma and Leo."

The girl blushed and smiled, placing four cupcakes into a little box for them to take away. Taking their money, she dropped their donation into the nearest RSPCA box.

"Thanks!" said Steve. "Have a great day."

Giving the girl one last smile, they walked off, wandering over the grass in the direction they had originally come from, heading back towards Buttercup Cottage. They could not stop smiling. The fête had been amazing, exceeding all expectations. Steve felt incredibly grateful that he had got the chance to take part in something so quintessentially and traditionally English whilst he was here. It felt like cultural enrichment, totally unique, something he could not have experienced anywhere else.

It did not take them long to get back to Buttercup Cottage. They found Jemma in the reception booth, reading a book about genetics, and got her attention by placing two chocolate cupcakes and the coconut in front of her. Jemma's eyes widened with delight when they saw they had brought her gifts, a smile lighting up her face immediately.

"The fête was amazing," said Steve. "I've never been to anything like it before in my life. Thank you so much for suggesting it."

"Yeah, it was seriously cool," said Bucky. "One of my favourite experiences in England so far."

Jemma beamed up at them, obviously thrilled that they had enjoyed the fête so much.

"No problem!" she said brightly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. It wasn't weird at all, was it?"

Steve remembered the children dressed in white dancing around the maypole. He remembered the Morris dancers, with bells attached to their knees and wooden sticks in their hands. He remembered the scarecrows, and the coconut shy, and the unbridled joy of the villagers taking part in a centuries-old tradition.

He smiled.

"It was quaint," he said.

* * *

That evening, Steve and Bucky said goodnight after dinner and went back to their separate rooms. Bucky said he wanted to have a Skype call with his family, and Steve respectfully accepted it without question, bidding him goodnight and giving him a kiss before heading back to his own room.

As he sat on his bed, that same sense of melancholy that had visited him that morning returned. He realised, with a sickening jolt, that this time tomorrow he would be flying over the Atlantic Ocean, alone. He would go back to Boston, and in all likelihood never see Bucky again. The thought nauseated him, panic clawing its way up his throat and making it difficult to breathe. Through the wall, he could hear the indistinct sounds of Bucky already talking to his family, sounding happy and carefree as he chatted with his parents and sisters. Steve yearned to burst in there, to wrap his arms around Bucky and not let go, to reject the fate that was all too clearly spelt out by the plane ticket with his name on it, departing Manchester Airport tomorrow evening.

Pushing himself off the bed, he instead grabbed his phone from the desk and pulled up Natasha's number. Hesitating only a moment, he pressed the video call button, before settling back down on the bed as he waited for her to pick up. She did so on the third ring, looking as calm and poised as ever, her red hair falling in perfect ringlets around her face. Natasha smiled when Steve appeared on her screen, her green eyes crinkling into a grin at the sight of her friend. Steve could tell from the background that she was in her office at Stanlee Publishers.

"Hey, Nat," he said, suddenly exhausted, as if the effort of making the call had drained him of all his energy.

"Hey, bitch," said Natasha, before leaning in, examining him on her screen, a small frown creasing her forehead. "What's wrong? You look all... miserable."

Steve grimaced, not having realised he was apparently so easy to read. For a moment, he considered denying it, before caving and settling for the truth. That was why he had decided to ring Natasha, after all: to get some outside perspective and advice on his situation.

"I need to tell you something," he began, before trailing off, unsure how to continue.

Natasha waited for a couple of seconds, before seeming to reach the natural end of her patience, twirling her index finger as if fast-forwarding time to get Steve to the point.

"Go on, then," she said. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm not psychic."

Steve smiled weakly. A psychic Natasha would be a truly terrifying thing. She was already scary enough without needing another weapon in her arsenal.

"Do you remember last time we called, I told you that I was fucking the hot guy next door?" said Steve.

On the screen, Natasha nodded immediately.

"Yes!" she said. "That was some hot gossip."

Steve took a deep breath. He might as well get straight to the point.

"Well... I think I've gone and fallen in love with him."

For several long seconds, silence, and then in a shocked tone, a whisper:

"Holy shit!"

Steve ran a tired hand over his face.

"I want to ask him if he wants to carry on this relationship, or whatever the hell it is, but one of the first things he ever said to me was that he's not looking for romance," said Steve, in a rush. Now that he had started talking, he could not stop, the words tumbling over one another in his haste. "He's just had his heart broken by his douchebag ex. He's not looking for a boyfriend. So now I'm coming home tomorrow and I feel like shit because I'm never going to see him again and _fuck_! How the hell did I manage to fall in love with him in just two weeks?!"

"You have to tell him how you feel," Natasha said immediately. "You'll regret it forever if you don't. Who knows, maybe he's changed his mind? At least ask to keep in touch."

Steve nodded slowly, his heart rate settling down to something closer to approximating normal. It was what his heart had been screaming at him to do anyway; hearing it from Natasha was simply the confirmation he needed that doing so would be the right choice.

He had to speak to Bucky, tomorrow, before he left. He had to tell him how he felt. He had to ask him if he wanted to continue their relationship, or at least keep in touch, beyond these fourteen precious days.

If he did not, he would spend the rest of his life regretting it. Bucky would be his greatest, most painful, most tragic "what if".

And, as he had told Bucky on Harker's Point on their eighth day together, "what if" was his greatest fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/626553117067067393/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> YORKSHIRE FLAG: Yes, the Yorkshire flag exists and it is as described in this chapter - a white rose on a light blue background. You can see a picture of it [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/163681535515/happy-yorkshire-day) if you're interested :)
> 
> MORRIS DANCING: [Here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/626514233576800256/traditional-english-morris-dancing-from-north) is a video of traditional English Morris dancing (specifically from North Yorkshire), if you want to see what it looks like in real life! In the background, you can see the York city walls that Steve and Bucky walked along the top of in Chapter 9: York ;)
> 
> COCONUT SHY: I was astonished to discover that coconut shies do not seem to exist outside of the UK! If you want to see what one looks like, you can see a picture of one [here](https://www.propfactory.co.uk/images/purple%20coconut%20shy%20new%20main.jpg).
> 
> INCREDIBLE PUB NAME: Followers on my Tumblr may have seen in the last week that I found out that there's an actual pub in Thornton-le-Dale with a name that is incredibly pertinent to this fic!! Curious about the pub's name? Click [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/626253758783963136/i-just-found-out-theres-a-pub-in-thornton-le-dale) to find out what it's called! XD
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you all for your amazing comments last week! It seems you guys enjoyed Steve and Bucky's day trip to Robin Hood's Bay <3 Please know that your comments and kudos are the most wonderful motivation and keep me excited about writing this fic!
> 
> THOUGHTS: Did you enjoy this chapter? Would you like to go to a traditional English fête? And how are you feeling about Steve's last day in the UK being tomorrow? Let me know your thoughts and feelings in the comments below! :O
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be Steve's final day in the UK... 
> 
> TUMBLR: I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, if any of you crazy cats want to follow or say hi to me on there! ;)


	14. At Harker's Point

The next morning, Steve woke abruptly.

He sat up quickly, unsure what had roused him so suddenly to consciousness – some noise outside perhaps, or simply the increasingly urgent realisation that this was his final day in the UK; that this evening, he would fly back to Boston, alone. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing the sleep and exhaustion from his eyes as he dragged himself out of bed. He had not slept well. At some point in the last two weeks, he had grown accustomed to sleeping beside Bucky, and so the night before, when they had parted ways so that Bucky could speak with his family and Steve could speak with Natasha, he had found it difficult to sleep alone, the bed feeling too cold and empty for him to fully get comfortable.

Steve shuffled into the bathroom, the tiled floor cool underfoot, and by the time he had had a wash, a shave and used the toilet, he was feeling much more human. He stretched when he re-entered the bedroom, popping his back as he gazed around the room that in the last half a month had become something akin to home. His gaze lingered on the little details: the rose patterned rug, the imperfectly painted wood of the furniture, the paintings of the local area on the walls, some of which he now recognised from real life: Robin Hood's Bay, Harker's Point, York's ancient city walls. He remembered all the times he and Bucky had made love on the bed. He remembered the time Bucky had covered him in sushi and eaten it off him, and he had ended up having a laughing fit, and damn... He did not want to go.

Uncaring of his desires, time marched on, and with great reluctance, Steve dragged his suitcase from the corner of the room and lifted it onto the bed. He was a naturally organised man. Much though the thought of leaving filled him with dread, the thought of not packing and then the inevitable panicked rush that would follow made him even more anxious. Hating it, wishing he could do literally anything else, he began removing his possessions from the wardrobe, the desk and the little bedside table, packing them neatly away in his suitcase. He was halfway through folding some shirts when there was a knock at his bedroom door. Crossing the room, he opened it to find Bucky standing in the hallway, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, his wavy brown hair rumpled from sleep.

"Hey," said Steve. "I need to finish packing, but then let's have breakfast together, yeah?"

Bucky looked past Steve into the bedroom, a frown creasing his forehead when he saw the suitcase lying open on the bed. A strange expression passed over his face, his eyes flickering uncertainly from the suitcase to rove across Steve's features.

"You're flying home today?" said Bucky.

"Yeah."

For a moment, Bucky looked as though he were going to say something. He looked uncomfortable, opening and closing his mouth several times, before shaking his head and putting on a smile that somehow seemed forced.

"Of course we'll have breakfast together," said Bucky. "Just knock on my door when you want to go downstairs."

With that, Bucky headed back to his room, giving Steve another quick smile that did not quite seem to fit. Steve turned back to the chaos of his bedroom, taking in the half-emptied wardrobe and the clothes strewn across the bed. He sighed. He hated packing at the best of times, not least when he did not really want to go. Begrudgingly, he resumed his packing, placing things in his suitcase on autopilot, his mind elsewhere, lost in memories from the last two weeks: him and Bucky at the top of Durham Cathedral, him and Bucky at the village fête, him and Bucky walking down the beach at Robin Hood's Bay, making a wish on a seashell and throwing it into the waves.

His heart ached.

He could not bear the thought that today might be the end of those memories.

By the time he had finished packing, he knew exactly what he had to do.

* * *

They decided to break with tradition and reject the dining room in favour of having breakfast on the patio in the back garden.

Leo brought them a full English breakfast, and they thanked him wholeheartedly, before tucking into the delicious spread. As they ate, Steve gazed out at the garden, finding himself suddenly floored by the ache of nostalgia as he was bombarded by memories.

At the bottom of the garden was the patch of white roses where Steve had almost tripped over Bucky the first time they had properly met. Snaking between the flowerbeds was the strip of grass where they had laid down together and watched the Milky Way. In the foreground were the wildflowers where they had played with Goose the cat. And right here, on the patio, was where they had shared several beautiful nights with Leo and Jemma – where they had eaten food and drank wine under the fairy lights, whilst Leo played Auld Lang Syne on his guitar. Steve could not believe they had managed to make so many memories – beautiful, meaningful memories – in just two short weeks.

They were close to finishing their meals. As Steve watched Bucky mop up the last greasy bits of bacon with his bread, a fresh wave of anxiety washed over him. Over the last two weeks, somehow, he had fallen head over heels in love with this beautiful, kind, fascinating man. He was not ready to say goodbye. He had to act now, before it was too late, because he would never get this chance again – and he would regret it forever if he let this chance, this man, slip through his fingers and become just another memory. The seconds trickled by, sweeping them closer, unstoppably, irrevocably, towards goodbye. Making himself swallow past the lump in his throat, Steve forced himself to speak.

"Hey..." he said weakly. "We need to talk."

Bucky immediately gave him his full attention, pushing his plate aside and fixing Steve with his gaze. _Cornflower blue_ , thought Steve. And then: _please don't let this be the last time I look into those eyes_.

"Sure," said Bucky. "What about?"

Was it just Steve's imagination, or did Bucky sound anxious too? Was it possible that he was just as preoccupied with their imminent parting as Steve? Below the table, Steve forced his nervously jittering leg to be still, breathing deeply in an attempt to centre himself. He could not get bogged down with hypothetical wonderings. He could not afford to let himself raise his hopes that Bucky might reciprocate his feelings. He simply did not have the spare mental capacity – nor the strength to cope if he allowed his hopes to be raised only for them to be cruelly dashed. Now, simply, was a time of action.

"I know when we met, you said that romance isn't something that you're looking for right now," said Steve, quite pleased when his voice did not shake. "And I totally respect that. You've just come out of a shitty relationship with your ex. You should move on at your own pace, and maybe you feel it's too soon to start something serious again."

Bucky remained silent, listening intently to Steve's words. When he did not make any move to interrupt, Steve ploughed on, willing himself not to lose his nerve now that he had begun.

"But... I've really enjoyed getting to know you, over the last two weeks. I like you a lot, and I'd like to stay in touch – if... if you were up for that. I'd like to see if we can make this work," he gestured vaguely at the two of them, "this relationship or flirtationship or whatever it is... I'm enjoying it too much to just stop. I don't want it to end."

There was a long silence.

Steve's heart hammered wildly against his ribcage as he watched Bucky visibly struggle to absorb everything Steve had just said. Steve could sense that Bucky was feeling torn, unsure of what to say in the face of such brutal emotional honesty. Steve berated himself furiously, wondering if he had been too direct, too full-on, too intense. After several minutes of excruciating silence, Bucky cracked an awkward smile.

"Wow, you sure know how to make a good speech," he joked, before lapsing into silence, the fake smile sliding off his face as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. After a while, he sighed. "I didn't realise you were leaving today. I'd have thought about this before if I'd known. I like you too. But my ex – he really fucked me up..."

Steve could see Bucky wrestling with his emotions; could practically see the cogs whirring in the other man's brain as he struggled to weigh up the pros and cons. The thought of Bucky rushing this decision scared him. Without particularly thinking, Steve stepped in, not wanting to put Bucky on the spot, not wanting that extra pressure to force him to make a rash decision which he might later regret.

"You don't need to decide right now," said Steve hurriedly. "I'm not leaving Thornton-le-Dale until just after 2pm, when the bus leaves for York. How about... How about I wait at Harker's Point? Have a proper think about it, and then if you want to stay in touch, just meet me at Harker's Point before 2pm."

Bucky smiled, looking immensely relieved that he did not have to make a snap decision on the spot. He nodded gratefully, cracking the first genuine smile that Steve felt he had seen all morning.

"Yeah, cool," said Bucky. "That sounds good."

Wordlessly, together, they stood up. Steve allowed himself to drink in the sight of Bucky one last time (in case it really was the last time), beautifully framed with the garden behind him, wildflowers and green grass and white roses and brilliant blue eyes. They stepped out from behind the table and embraced one another gently. Steve closed his eyes, cherishing the warmth and solidness of Bucky's body under his hands, the soft brush of his hair against Steve's cheek, the scent of him – a scent Steve had got to know so intimately in the last two weeks, a scent he had fallen in love with, simply because it was Bucky's.

They hugged for a long while, neither of them apparently willing to let the other go. Steve felt that, perhaps, if the hug did not end, he would not have to go back to Boston, that he could simply stay here, in this tranquil little village in the north east of England, with Bucky, and forget about everything else. Of course, real life did not work like that. After several long minutes, they drew apart, and Steve did his best to paint a warm smile on his face.

"Hopefully, I'll see you at Harker's Point later," he said. "But if not... It's been incredible to meet you. Thank you for making the last two weeks so fun."

Bucky smiled softly, his gaze gentle as he nodded.

"You too," he said. "Take care of yourself, Steve."

Bucky leant in and gave him one final hug, planting a tender kiss on Steve's cheek, before pulling away.

It occurred to Steve, then – suddenly and viscerally – that this may well be the last time they would ever speak.

The thought bowled him over, stabbing him through the heart and making his chest constrict, suddenly paralysed with emotion.

Before Bucky could see the pain in his eyes, Steve gave him a quick wave and turned around, heading back inside to finish packing.

* * *

Steve checked out of Buttercup Cottage at 11am.

He hugged Jemma and Leo tightly after handing over his key, suddenly emotional to say goodbye to the two quirky Brits. It was strange, to leave this place that felt like home, to leave these people who felt like family. He hauled his luggage down the little garden path and joined the pavement, before turning around and giving them one last wave. His gaze flicked briefly to the upstairs windows, his heart flipping in his chest as he stared momentarily at the window on the right – Bucky's room. Bucky was in there, right now, thinking over what Steve had said at breakfast. With great effort, Steve dragged his eyes away from the window and began to walk down the road.

He checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time that morning: 11:05am. Steve would wait for Bucky at Harker's Point until 2pm, which gave Bucky just under three hours to come to his decision. The bus left Thornton-le-Dale at 2:20pm, and then Steve would be gone, retracing his journey that he had first made two weeks prior: York, Manchester Airport, seven hours of terror trapped in a metal tube, then Boston.

He made his way through the village, his heart aching with bittersweet nostalgia as location after location triggered memory after memory. The village green – and the village fête. The little stream – and the time Bucky had fallen in. The quaint, old-fashioned houses – and the time they had wandered around the village at night-time, on a whim, to see the place in a different light. It was wonderful, yet at the same time tragic, because he did not want to go – not when he had found so much happiness here.

He arrived at Harker's Point at 11:30am, hot and sweaty from the exertion of hauling his luggage up the deceptively steep hill. He sat down on the old tree stump and gazed out from the little plateau, drinking in the beauty of this unique slice of English countryside. From here, he could see the rooftops of the little village of Thornton-le-Dale at the bottom of the valley. He could see the road that snaked through the landscape, connecting it with the outside world; a ribbon of tarmac. He could see sheep grazing in a distant field, and hedgerows, and green grass, and gosh, it was beautiful.

Time trickled by slowly. Steve was tense, his shoulders taut and his back ramrod straight as he waited. His gaze was fixed on the little footpath that led from the main road up to Harker's Point. Would Bucky walk up that path? What was Bucky thinking, right now? Did Bucky feel the same way as Steve, or had this just been a holiday fling for him, two weeks of fun to blow off some steam and replace the memories of his douchebag ex with some happier ones? Steve pushed the thoughts away, unwilling to give them the space in his mind to fester. He had said his piece to Bucky. He had explained his feelings and given Bucky the chance to choose. Now, all he could do was wait.

Unfortunately, that did not make waiting any less terrifying.

Around noon, a group of children from the village came to the field to play. They looked to be around ten years old, about half a dozen boys and girls dressed in shorts and t-shirts. Steve wondered if any of them had been the children he had seen dance around the maypole. One of the boys produced a football, and a high-energy game quickly got underway. Steve could not quite work out the rules of their game, but it seemed to be a mixture of football and dancing. He watched them for a while, until eventually they left and headed back to the village.

Around 1pm, the sounds of people enjoying lunch and drinks floated up the hillside from one of the village pubs. Steve listened to the sounds of laughter floating on the breeze. He remembered the numerous pub meals he had shared with Bucky over the last two weeks. He remembered the first time they had got drunk together, drinking red wine amongst the roses in the back garden of Buttercup Cottage. He remembered kissing Bucky's wine-stained lips, his mouth tingling with the ghost of it.

Around 1:30pm, he saw an ambulance whizzing along the main road, siren wailing and lights flashing as it headed into Thornton-le-Dale. He watched it with a morbid kind of interest. Nothing looked more foreign than the emergency service vehicles of other countries. Whilst the ambulances back in Boston were usually white with a red or orange stripe down the side and red and white flashing lights, this British ambulance was fluorescent yellow with green and yellow squares chequering the side and blue flashing lights. He watched as it disappeared into the village. It re-emerged around ten minutes later, siren screaming as it raced back to its hospital.

The minutes slipped by, and soon the children, and the pub lunch goers, and the ambulance all faded from Steve's mind, to be replaced by a singular focus on the time. He could not take his eyes off his watch.

_1:58pm..._

_1:59pm..._

_2pm..._

Steve exhaled raggedly, feeling sick, his heart hammering as he looked around.

It was 2pm.

Bucky was not here.

Steve waited until 2:15pm, before being forced to give up, hurrying down the field with his suitcase in tow as he raced to the bus stop.

He made it just in time.

He paid the bus driver for a single ticket to York, wiping the tears from his face as he took his seat, alone, at the back of the bus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/627158867078479872/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you for all the comments and love on the last chapter! I appreciate every single one of you!
> 
> THOUGHTS: ...well, FUCK! Nooo!! Are you screaming right now?! Are you crying?! I am currently flailing madly, so if you want to flail with me or just yell at me, please do so in the comments section below! ;)
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will follow Steve on his first few days back in Boston... 
> 
> TUMBLR: If any of you little cuties want to stalk my Tumblr, I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) over there <3


	15. The Ache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this chapter early, so you're getting it early! You're welcome ;)

The first day back in Boston was awful.

Steve awoke alone in his apartment, momentarily disoriented to be staring up at his own bedroom ceiling, rather than that of the guest room in Buttercup Cottage. The jarring disconnect between expectation and reality woke him with a sickening jolt, his gut immediately lurching when he remembered what had happened the day before, at Harker's Point.

Bucky.

Bucky not showing up at 2pm.

Bucky saying goodbye in the garden – a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and then the end.

The memory of Bucky seemed to permeate every waking moment. Steve found himself thinking about him at the strangest of times. When he made breakfast, just cereal and milk, the ghost of Leo's last fry-up lingering on his lips, he suddenly found himself remembering, as clearly as if he were watching him right then and there, Bucky mopping up the last of his bacon with a hunk of bread. It happened next when he went to brush his teeth. Minty freshness coated his taste buds, and suddenly he was back at Buttercup Cottage, Bucky's arm slung around his waist as they brushed their teeth together, looking at one another in the mirror, toothpaste foam smeared around their mouths. A little while later, he saw a bottle of red wine in his drinks cabinet and had to turn away, closing his eyes to push away the memory of Bucky's wine-stained lips pressing against his own, that first night they met in the garden at Buttercup Cottage, white roses blooming around them.

It was a little like grief. The pain ebbed and flowed. The memory of Bucky was bursting from his subconscious, coating every second in that sharp, hideous reminder of what they had shared – and lost. Steve missed Bucky. He longed for him, pined for him – to the point that he felt as though he were starting to go mad; haunted by a ghost who was not even dead, haunted by a spectre who was not even there. There were moments when the last two weeks felt unreal. Had it really happened? Thornton-le-Dale. Durham. York. Robin Hood's Bay. Ice creams and Morris dancers and seashells and cathedrals. Wildflowers and willow trees and Auld Lang Syne and the alleyways that snaked between the houses by the seaside. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky... Had any of it ever been real, or had it simply been a fantasy, a daydream, too perfect to have existed?

That question was answered later that afternoon, when Steve finally forced himself to begin unpacking. He lifted his suitcase onto his bed and began taking out his belongings on autopilot. Work notes. Sandals. Shorts. T-shirts. He picked up a black t-shirt he had not remembered packing, shaking it open to find the AC/DC logo emblazoned on the front. Steve did not own an AC/DC t-shirt. He stared at it, the air evacuating his lungs when he realised it was not his t-shirt, but Bucky's. It must have been discarded in Steve's room one of the nights they made love, and Steve had been too distracted when he was packing to realise the mix up. He stared at the t-shirt – _Bucky's t-shirt_ – breathless. It was like a sucker punch, knocking the air right out of his lungs. It was a brutal reminder that Thornton-le-Dale really had happened – that it had not just been some fever dream, but real.

Hesitantly, Steve lifted the t-shirt to his face and inhaled deeply.

It smelt like Bucky.

His heart ached.

* * *

Adjusting to being back in his apartment was difficult.

After spending two weeks in the tiny old building that was Buttercup Cottage, surrounded every day by Bucky, Jemma and Leo, Steve's own apartment felt, by contrast, very large and empty. The juxtaposition taunted him. The silence that filled his home was heavy. The abundance of space only sought to highlight his own loneliness. When he looked out of the window, he saw the bustle of Boston, rather than the quiet tranquillity of Thornton-le-Dale, and he hated it.

Thornton-le-Dale felt like another world, another life, another dimension of reality entirely. He missed it. The ache in his chest intensified as the memory of the English heatwave wrapped him up like a ghost's hug. He wished he were still there, with Bucky; that their wonderful two weeks had not had to end, that they could still be together, exploring the local countryside and drinking red wine and making love every night. He shook himself, immediately feeling guilty. He had given Bucky the freedom to make his choice. It was not right that he should wish to still be with him, when Bucky had made his decision quite clear – but damn, that did not make it any easier.

He had gone to England to represent his publishing house at a literary conference.

He had come back a changed man: with a heart full of love and pain; with a mind full of memories; and with the terrible ache of knowing he would never see Bucky again – that they would make no more memories together; that this was, truly, the end of the line.

* * *

The next day, Steve went out to stock up on groceries.

He had emptied his fridge in advance of his two weeks away, and now, unless he wanted to rely solely on tinned cupboard food, he badly needed to restock. With some effort, he dragged himself out of his apartment, heading outside and getting into his car. As it turned out, going through the motions of driving actually seemed to help, providing a much-needed distraction from the depressing thoughts spiralling away in his head. By the time he had reached the store and begun pushing his trolley around the aisles, he was actually starting to feel slightly chipper – or, at least, no longer like he was trapped in a dark pit of despair.

He went methodically down the aisles, crossing the items off his shopping list as he piled them into his trolley: some fresh vegetables, fresh fruit, chicken breasts, burger patties. Around twenty minutes later, everything on his list was in his trolley. He made his way to the checkouts, joining the shortest queue and drumming his fingers idly on the trolley handle as he waited. When he got to the front of the queue, he looked over and smiled at the checkout worker, his smile faltering slightly when he saw who it was.

It was a young man whom Steve had previously named in his head "Grocery Store Crush". He was an attractive young man: polite, good looking and adorably flirtatious in a way that suggested he was at least as attracted to Steve as Steve was to him. Previously, whenever Steve had shopped here, he would look forward to reaching the checkouts solely so he could see Grocery Store Crush. They had their own little ritual: check out, flirt, wink, and then part ways; just a harmless bit of fun to inject some light-hearted spice into their days.

Upon seeing Steve, Grocery Store Crush's face lit up with a sultry smile.

"Look who it is, my favourite customer," he drawled. "Long time no see! I was starting to think you'd left me to go shop someplace else."

Steve forced himself to smile, shaking his head as he crossed over to the other side of the till to start bagging up his items as Grocery Store Crush scanned them through.

"No way," said Steve. "I was just on vacation."

Grocery Store Crush's brown eyes widened with interest.

"Nice! Where did you go? You think you could sneak me in your suitcase next time?"

Steve dumped his apples into his bag with slightly more force than was intended.

"It was just this little place in England," he said, his voice strained.

Steve tried to flirt back and respond in kind to Grocery Store Crush's light-hearted banter, he really did. He tried to throw himself back into that familiar headspace – flirty but friendly, naughty but nice – but it proved impossible. He no longer got the butterflies in his stomach that he used to feel before. He no longer felt attracted to Grocery Store Crush. He found himself comparing the young man with Bucky – and Bucky was better in every way. Having met Bucky had ruined him for anyone else. No one would ever be able to live up to what Bucky had been.

The young man seemed slightly disappointed by the lack of Steve's usual friendly flirting, but made no mention of it, remaining as polite and sweet as ever as he handed over the card machine for Steve to pay. As he punched in his PIN code, Steve muttered a vague apology about being jetlagged, desperate to get out of there before he broke down or freaked out entirely at the realisation that knowing Bucky had apparently destroyed his ability to feel anything for anyone else.

Waving a hasty goodbye to Ex-Grocery Store Crush, he walked away as quickly as he could, biting his lip to stop himself from bawling.

The ache in his chest intensified.

* * *

That evening, he walked into his bedroom, only to be confronted with the sight of Bucky's AC/DC t-shirt lying on top of his messy, half-emptied suitcase.

He stopped, breathing deeply as he closed his eyes, massaging his temples as he gathered his frayed nerves. The previous day, when he had discovered the t-shirt, it had thrown him off kilter so completely that he had simply abandoned his attempts to unpack. He could not live like that anymore, he decided. He could not leave his suitcase half unpacked – if only because there was shit in there that he actually needed in his day-to-day life. He could not cope, either, with the sight of Bucky's t-shirt every time he walked into his bedroom. It hurt too much. He had to do something about it.

The question was, what? He could not bear the thought of throwing the t-shirt away. It was his one and only connection to Bucky; his one and only physical lifeline to the time he had spent in Thornton-le-Dale. It was proof that it had all been real, proof that Bucky existed, somewhere out there, albeit minus a t-shirt. Still, he could not bear to look at it. It hurt too much, to be reminded of what he had lost. Perhaps, he could donate it to charity, support some worthy cause? But no, that would mean he would have to wash it first, and he could not bear the thought of washing away Bucky's scent; that smell that he had fallen in love with in just two short weeks. In the end, he simply shoved it to the back of his wardrobe. Out of sight, out of mind – right...?

Suddenly exhausted, he forced himself to continue emptying the suitcase. He wanted it all sorted, tonight, so that he would not have to think about it again. He wanted to simply throw himself into work in the morning, without this painful chore looming over him. He put away the rest of his clothes, organised all the work notes and business cards he had collected on that one day of the literary conference, and put aside his sandy shoes to clean later. It took him just under an hour to empty the suitcase and put things back in their proper place. He was just sticking his hands into the suitcase's various pockets to check that they were empty, when his fingers brushed against something in the outer pocket. He frowned with confusion, pulling it out to look at it.

His breath caught in his throat, recognising it immediately. It was the puzzle book that Leo had given him for entertainment, the day he and Bucky had gone on their day trip to Durham. After a moment's hesitation, he opened it, his heart leaping when he saw the crossword that they had attempted together. He suddenly remembered, clear as day, sitting opposite Bucky on the busy train, the puzzle book lying open between them as they tried to decipher a particularly raunchy clue.

_A source of intense pleasure (four letters)._

Bucky had laughed, and Steve had been mortified, and together they had come up with a slew of suggestions for some outrageous four-letter words related to pleasure. Between snorts of laughter, Bucky had scribbled down their suggestions in the margin, obscenities now immortalised in blue ink, in Bucky's messy scrawl: _cock, fuck, lick, suck, ride, dick, come._

Steve stared at Bucky's handwriting, his chest aching with the loss, before suddenly closing the puzzle book with a snap, unable to bear it. He marched across the room to his desk, before pulling open one of the drawers and thrusting it to the very back. Like the t-shirt, he could not bear to look at it, but he could not bear the thought of getting rid of it even more. Trying not to think, he shut the desk drawer and went back to his suitcase, finding with no small amount of relief that the rest of the pockets were empty. He dragged the empty suitcase to his closet, stowing it away and trying to feel a sense of accomplishment at having finished his task.

It did not work. He did not feel accomplished. If anything, now he felt worse, because without a task to keep him busy and distract him, all he could think about was how fucking much he missed Bucky. He felt empty, lonely; crushed beneath the weight of that all-pervasive ache.

He rubbed a hand across his face, trying not to cry. He had work in the morning. He should try to get a good night's sleep and all that shit.

He ate alone.

He went to bed alone.

When he closed his eyes, it was a relief to finally fall asleep and escape the terrible ache in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/627712153117425664/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> BOSTON PHOTOS: I have shared [these photos of Boston](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/627257643424202752/hot-summer-nights-locations-boston) on my Tumblr, if you want to see what it looks like in real life :) I've never been to Boston before, so it was fun researching it!
> 
> EASTER EGG: Did any of you notice the little Easter egg mentioning "the end of the line" at the end of the second scene? This is, of course, a nod to the Captain America films where "the end of the line" is a phrase very intimately connected with Steve and Bucky's storyline.
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you all so much for your comments on the last chapter! I had a lot of fun reading your theories about why Bucky did not turn up at Harker's Point ;) You will find out if any of your theories are correct in due course!
> 
> THOUGHTS: OK, so, perhaps TMI, but I might be a bit of a sadist because I absolutely loved writing this angsty shiz and thinking about how my lovely readers might react <3 How are you feeling? Are you, like Steve, in a dark pit of despair? What do you think will happen next? Please let me know your thoughts/feelings/theories in the comments section below!
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see Natasha step up and be the friend Steve needs at a time like this. 
> 
> TUMBLR: Are you on Tumblr? I am too! Feel free to follow, message or ask me stuff - I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) over there :)


	16. Natasha Is The Best Bro

Steve was woken by his alarm the next morning, finding himself quite relieved to have the distraction of a day of work ahead of him. At work, he could throw himself into editing manuscripts. At work, he could bury himself in fictional worlds and forget all about his real-life pain. At work, he had his best friend – Natasha – who had texted him the night before to say how much she was looking forward to seeing his "confused puppy face" in the office again.

He got up, showered and had breakfast in record time, actually finding himself raring to go, clamouring for the prospect of filling his brain with something other than depressing thoughts of Bucky enjoying himself back in England. How was Bucky feeling, right now? Had he moved on and forgotten about Steve already? Had a new guest moved into Steve's old room? Perhaps Bucky had already struck up a friendship – or more – with the newcomer...

Steve gritted his teeth, pushing the painful thoughts away as he gathered together his belongings for the day: his work laptop, the business cards and contact details he had gathered at the conference, his packed lunch and a box of English sweets he had brought back for his colleagues to share. Sweeping his gaze one last time over his apartment, he hitched his bag over his shoulder and exited the front door, locking it behind him before making his way down to street level.

The commute was as hectic as ever. He spent his journey on the subway squashed between his fellow commuters, listening to the noisy sounds of the carriage screeching along the track and the rhythmical turning of the wheels. Whilst on a normal day, this might have been a source of frustration, today Steve found himself embracing it. It could not be further from the quiet sleepiness of Thornton-le-Dale. The noise, the smells, the American accents – everything grounded him with familiarity and a comforting sense of separation from the last two weeks. The more distanced he felt from Thornton-le-Dale, the more he could distance himself from the pain – or, at least, that was what he told himself.

Nevertheless, as he emerged from the subway and began walking towards the office, he became aware of a rising sense of anxiety. His work colleagues would undoubtedly ask him about his two weeks in Thornton-le-Dale. He did not feel ready to talk about it. The beautiful memories of the last two weeks were still too painful to examine, too tainted by the raw hurt of Bucky's rejection. In time, he knew he would be able to look back at his time in England and appreciate them for the wonderful fourteen days they had been, but right now, just days after he had had his heart broken? Not so much. He hesitated as he reached the front door of the building that housed Stanlee Publishers and about a dozen other small businesses, staring at his reflection in the glass.

"You can do this," he said to himself firmly.

Taking a deep breath, he put on a smile and forced himself to walk inside. He climbed the stairs up to the floor that belonged to Stanlee Publishers, before pushing open the door and stepping into the office space. Immediately, he felt his smile become more genuine as he was met with the familiar sights and sounds of his workplace. The printer was churning out notes for the Monday morning team meeting. The coffee machine was whirring away in the corner, spitting out black coffee into a mug. May Parker was twirling her pen as she spoke quickly but calmly into her mobile phone, apparently directing her nephew Peter on how to wash bird poop out of his t-shirt at school.

Steve had barely made it a few steps into the office before his boss, Phil Coulson, came striding over, a warm smile on his face as he pulled Steve in for a friendly hug. Steve returned the hug gladly, strangely comforted by the familiar presence of the man who was as much a friend as a boss.

"Welcome back, Steve!" said Phil, finally pulling away with a grin. "Nice to have you back in the team."

"It's good to be back," said Steve.

He made his way around the office, saying hello and chatting briefly with his colleagues, until he finally reached the person he had been looking forward to seeing the most. Natasha had her own office, separate from the open plan layout where most people worked. He knocked on her door, before entering when he heard her call him in, his heart instantly warming when he saw that familiar mop of curly red hair.

Natasha immediately got up from her chair and rounded her desk in order to wrap him in a tight hug. Steve buried his nose in her hair, hugging her tightly, not realising until then just how much he had missed her. Natasha was his best friend, almost like a sister. Her presence grounded him, gave him comfort. Finally, they pulled apart. Natasha scrutinised him closely, before plunging straight to the point.

"Did you ask lover boy if he wanted to stay in touch?" she said.

Steve bowed his head, swallowing back the pain that her words immediately triggered. He supposed it was better to get this horrible part over and done with quickly. There was no reason to skirt around the point. Taking a deep breath, he nodded, forcing himself to meet her eyes.

"Yeah," he said. "I asked Bucky to meet me at Harker's Point before 2pm if he wanted to stay in touch. He never showed up. I guess I wasn't anything more than a vacation fling."

There. He had said it. The truth hung unpleasantly in the air, tasting bitter on his tongue. Steve had only ever been a rebound; a nice distraction to help Bucky get over his "orgy-obsessed dickhead" of an ex. He supposed he should be thankful that they had got to spend those two weeks together at all – but damn, it hurt like a bitch that Bucky had not returned his feelings.

Natasha grimaced, visibly disappointed that Steve had not got a better outcome. She gave his arm another pat, her green eyes meeting his blue ones sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, man. That sucks," she said. "Still... Two weeks of hot sex?"

The question was so unexpected, so crude, that it surprised Steve into a laugh, the weight on his chest lifting as the tension in the air dissipated, the ice well and truly broken. It felt good to smile again. It was the first time he had smiled, he realised, since he had left Thornton-le-Dale. He felt a rush of gratitude towards his friend. Natasha seemed to sense that Steve did not want to talk about his two weeks away, gesturing instead for him to follow her around the desk to look at what was on her computer screen.

"The new website is up and running," said Natasha. "Check it out!"

Natasha showed off her screen with a flourish, proudly displaying the fruits of her labour. Steve gave a low whistle, impressed. The new website looked fantastic. Gone was the clunky 1990s-style monstrosity they had had previously – replaced by a professional, modern and clear design showcasing their books, authors, how new authors could get in touch, and a staff page. Natasha dragged the side of her window left and right, showing how the website adjusted its layout in response.

"Fully responsive design, twenty times faster than the old website, and it no longer looks like an ancient artefact," said Natasha, not bothering to hide her smugness. "Who's the best Marketing Bitch?"

Steve laughed at her self-proclaimed title, giving her a high five.

"You're the best Marketing Bitch," said Steve. "Seriously, this looks great."

Natasha preened at the praise, before clicking onto the staff page, showing that each member of staff was listed there with their name, job title, photo and a short bio. She scrolled down to where Steve's details were listed, minus a photograph, before looking him dead in the eye with an expression that immediately had Steve clenching his buttocks on instinct.

"I need to take your photo for the staff page," said Natasha. "Now."

Steve groaned, instantly feeling his face grow hot as he blushed. He hated having his photo taken. He always looked awkward on camera, something that Natasha had been so kind as to point out on previous occasions.

"Do I have to?" he whined. "You know how bad I look in photos."

Natasha picked up her camera from her desk, already removing the cap and fiddling about with the settings.

"Everyone else had to do it," said Natasha. "Come on, it'll be fun! Just treat it like a photoshoot."

Steve balked with horror. He could not imagine anything worse than having to take part in a photoshoot. He watched helplessly as Natasha ushered him to stand in a corner of her office that he had now realised looked suspiciously like a mini photography studio, with lighting set up and a smart grey background propped up against the wall. He stared at Natasha in horror as she raised her camera to snap a picture of him, humming to herself as she looked at the resulting photo and adjusted the settings on her camera accordingly.

"OK, that was just a light check," said Natasha. "Now, stop looking so awkward."

Steve's lower lip stuck out stubbornly.

"I'm not trying to look awkward," he said. "That's just my face!"

Natasha cocked a slender eyebrow, raising her camera again.

"Just try," she said.

Steve stood with his arms stiffly by his sides, stretching his face in a way he hoped was more a smile than a grimace. Natasha began snapping photos, the shutter clicking as she talked him through it, giving him feedback.

"That's better! Now stop looking so scared."

"Less scared! _Less!_ You look like you're intimidated by me..."

"Smile more."

"More! Pretend you've just seen a kitten. That's it..."

"Oh my God, you keep blinking! Keep your eyes open."

"Not _that_ open!"

Steve dissolved into giggles at the evident frustration in Natasha's voice, unable to stop himself. The situation was ridiculous. Steve was apparently so bad at having his photo taken that it had gone right from cringeworthy to hilarious. Natasha was scowling in such a fearsome way that weaker men might have pissed their pants right then and there, but all Steve could do was laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, the tension bleeding out of him as he finally got it out of his system.

With a little smirk, Natasha suddenly snapped a photo, her smile widening as she looked down at it with satisfaction.

"Perfect!" she said brightly. "See, wasn't that fun?"

It was not the word Steve would use.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Natasha was a regular visitor to Steve's flat, popping around at the weekend and some evenings after work. It was never explicitly said out loud, but Steve knew that Natasha was concerned about him, checking in on him to make sure he did not enter a downwards mental spiral following the end of his whatever-the-hell-it-had-been with Bucky.

One evening, exactly two weeks after Steve's return to the US, there was a knock at his front door. He put down the book he had been reading (The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa), setting it down on his coffee table, before padding over to the door and pulling it open.

"Hey, Steve!"

Steve stared at the sight before him. Natasha was dressed in her pyjamas, with one – _no, two!_ – of the fluffiest-looking pink dressing gowns he had ever seen in his life slung over one arm. On the other arm were balanced two large pizza boxes, a tub of luxury chocolate ice cream, and a couple of DVDs. He blinked, momentarily unsure if what he was seeing was real, before Natasha pushed past him, bustling her way into his home, the delicious smell of pizza wafting in her wake.

"What are you doing here?" he said weakly, closing the front door and following her into his living room, where Natasha was putting down her eclectic collection of items on a table.

"You're pining," she said. "You loved. You lost. It's like the plot from one of those tragic gay romance novels at work. You know what that means?"

Steve stared at her, dumbfounded.

"No?" he said.

"It means it's time for an obligatory post-break-up slumber party," said Natasha matter-of-factly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I brought pizza. I brought ice cream. I brought movies. Oh yeah, and you have to put this on."

She threw over one of the pink fluffy dressing gowns, before donning the other herself, tying the cord around her waist to make it fit snugly around her like the pinkest, fluffiest hug in the world. Steve caught it, before shaking it out, finding that Natasha had bought it in extra-large so that it would fit his tall, muscular frame. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled it on, his initial self-consciousness to be wearing something so pink and girly melting away as the fluffy warmness enveloped him in a comforting embrace. He smiled. It was incredible, really, the way Natasha knew exactly how to help in any given situation. He felt incredibly lucky to have her as a friend.

"I've never had a post-break-up slumber party before," he admitted.

Natasha stared at him, appalled, before marching over to him, ushering him over to sit down on the sofa, arranging the cushions and pillows around him so that they formed a little nest.

"Here's what we're going to do," said Natasha. "We're going to put on some movies that we're not really going to watch, we're going to eat junk food, and we're going to talk and gossip and talk shit."

Steve blinked, slightly overwhelmed by the unfolding events yet curious as to how things would pan out.

"OK," he said.

He watched from his pillow nest as Natasha fiddled with the TV and put on the first film (some cheesy rom-com), before she went to fetch the pizza and ice cream, settling down with him on the sofa amongst the cushions and pillows as she handed him a pizza box.

"I got you a meat feast," she said, before winking lecherously, "because I know how much you like _meat_."

Steve snorted with laughter, a blush colouring his cheeks at Natasha's low-brow humour. He bit into the pizza, the succulent flavours from the cheese and the meat exploding in his mouth, making him moan. He suddenly remembered, with a stab of pain, how Bucky had commented on his "porn star groans" whenever he ate, his eyes prickling at the memory.

"Everything reminds me of Bucky," he said suddenly, before he could stop himself. "When is it going to stop hurting?"

Natasha, who was just about to take a massive bite out of her pizza, paused, her face softening with sympathy. She scooted over, adjusting some of the pillows so that they could snuggle side by side, throwing an arm around Steve's shoulders and pulling him in for a hug.

"Oh, Steve," she said. "It'll hurt for a while, but things will get better, I promise."

"I just..." said Steve. "I fell in love with him."

"That's what tonight's about," said Natasha. "You can't keep this bottled up. You have to talk about him. The good, the bad, the ugly. You have to grieve for him, then you'll be able to move on."

Steve consoled himself by finishing off his first slice of pizza in silence, thinking over Natasha's words. She was right, of course. He could not bury his feelings about Bucky. It was not healthy. Still, the thought of opening that Pandora's box of emotions terrified him. And perhaps, just maybe, there was a small part of him that did not want to move on, that was afraid to forget what it had felt like to love Bucky, that did not want the bright memory of their two weeks together to fade.

"Tell me about Bucky," said Natasha. "What made you fall in love with him? Talk to me. You'll feel better."

And so, Steve talked.

He told her about their awkward first 24 hours – how Steve had heard him masturbating through the wall, and how he had spilled half of Bucky's tea onto the floor when he had bumped into him in the narrow hallway the next morning, and how he had almost tripped over Bucky later that evening, amongst the roses in the back garden.

He told her how they explored many beautiful places in the North East of England together – Thornton-le-Dale with its unusual little stream running through the streets, York with its historic city walls and thriving little city atmosphere, Durham with its hills and the cathedral and the view from the top, Robin Hood's Bay with its winding little alleyways and the long beach and the cold sea.

He told her that Bucky was funny, quick-witted, kind and genuine – how he loved his sisters, how he wanted to ditch his job as a software engineer one day to become a musician or a writer or an artist, how he was scared of bees and saw shapes in the clouds.

He told her about all the different little ways he had fallen in love with him, and by the end of it, his cheeks were wet, the pizza was gone, and somehow, the weight on Steve's chest felt a little lighter, as if some of the burden had been lifted, simply by sharing his grief out loud.

Natasha enveloped him in a hug, grounding him back in the present. He smelt her apple-scented shampoo and hugged her back gratefully.

"I kind of feel a bit better," he admitted tentatively. "Thank you."

Natasha released him from the hug with a grin.

"Nice," she said. "In that case, we've reached the point in the slumber party where we demolish ice cream and talk shit. Where are your spoons?"

"In the kitchen, like a normal person," snarked Steve, earning himself a cushion in the face as Natasha flounced off to fetch the cutlery.

She returned a few moments later with two spoons, before picking up the tub of chocolate ice cream and balancing it on a flat cushion between them on the sofa. She pulled off the lid, frowning slightly as the gooey chocolate came into view.

"My bad, I forgot to put it in the freezer when I got here," she said. "Oh well, I bet it still tastes amazing."

Steve stuck his spoon into the chocolate ice cream, easily scooping out a large soft spoonful and sticking it into his mouth. The rich, sweet, decadent flavour coated his tongue, making him salivate instantly. He closed his eyes to savour the incredible taste, a smile spreading over his face. Amazing luxury ice cream with his best friend? This was something he could get used to.

"Is there anything else you want to say about Bucky?" asked Natasha. "Like, more light-hearted stuff? Did you guys do anything super crazy? Like in the _bedroom_?"

She wiggled her eyebrows enthusiastically, making Steve choke a little on his ice cream in shock.

" _Natasha!_ " he said, trying to sound scandalised.

"What?" she said. "Sometimes getting over someone involves gossiping about all the sordid details with your best friend."

Steve scooped out another spoonful of ice cream.

"We sucked each other off by the stream one time," he said finally. "Under a willow tree. This middle-aged couple walked by like a minute after we'd finished."

Natasha almost dropped her spoon in shock.

"Steven!" she said. "Have you been the secret dark horse of my friendship group all along? I thought you were _tame!_ "

Steve laughed at Natasha's stunned reaction, hiding his smile behind his spoon as he ducked his head, feeling somehow both thrilled and abashed. Natasha seemed to be struggling with whether to be scandalised or impressed, eventually settling on impressed, giving him a high five.

"That reminds me of one of the naughtiest things I ever did," she said, smirking as she scooped up another spoonful of ice cream.

"Oh yeah," said Steve, intrigued. "I thought you were asexual?"

"I _am_ asexual!" said Natasha. "Get your mind out of the gutter. Naughty doesn't just mean sex."

Steve lowered his head, suitably chastised.

"Sorry," he said. "Go on."

Natasha settled back against the cushions, throwing her legs out over Steve's lap, somehow managing to look rather regal as she gazed off into the middle distance.

"So, about a year ago, I went out with my gal pals," she said. "It was just a fun girls' night out, you know? Dancing, catching up, enjoying some drinks. The night was going really well. It was one of my friend's birthdays, and she was friends with the person who ran the bar, so we got free drinks all night – good, right?"

Steve nodded, already fully invested in the story. Knowing Natasha, something dramatic was bound to happen.

"The night goes on, I'm hammering back cocktail after cocktail, because it's delicious and _free_ – and everyone knows free drinks are the best drinks. Anyway, this random guy wearing a _wizard hat_ comes over and starts trying to hit on me. Everyone's laughing at his hat, but he doesn't seem to have noticed because he's trying real hard to flirt with me. He's pretty persistent, but I tell him I'm not interested, and he eventually goes away. Fast forward to the end of the night, we all leave the club, and then I realise that all those drinks have gone straight to my bladder and I _desperately need to pee_."

"Oh no..." murmured Steve.

"Anyway, there's a little stream at the bottom of this random car park next to the club, so I decide to rush over to the stream to go pee. I crouch down next to the stream, right, knickers down, ready to piss, when who comes along but Wizard Hat Guy! He starts whining this crazy bullshit that girls shouldn't pee in public, that it's something that only bros should do. Bros this, bros that. He's just full-on complaining about how me taking a piss outdoors like a guy is somehow damaging the bro-hood. All while standing there in this stupid wizard hat, as if he's the spokesman for bros everywhere."

"What the fuck...?" said Steve.

"So, I did what any angry, inebriated, Marketing Bitch would do. I swivelled around and pissed on his shoes!"

For a moment, Steve sat there in stunned silence, his mind vividly supplying the shocking visual of Natasha urinating on the shoes of a stuck-up man in a wizard hat, before he collapsed into helpless laughter, his spoon slipping from his grasp, tears of mirth trickling down his cheeks. Eventually, when he finally managed to regain some composure, he looked Natasha dead in the eye and gave her a high five.

"Hey, bro?" said Steve, grinning.

"Yeah, bro?" said Natasha.

"One, remind me to cover my shoes next time I annoy you. And two... Thank you. For tonight. For being you. You're a good bro."

Natasha looked touched, before grinning, ruffling his hair.

"Bitch, I'm the best bro. And this bro always has your back."

* * *

It was one month after their "post-break-up slumber party" that Natasha convinced Steve to join her on a night out clubbing.

She cornered him one Friday evening after work, hovering by his desk as he shut down his computer for the week and began gathering up his possessions to go home.

"Come out with me tonight!" said Natasha. "It'll be fun. Who knows, maybe you'll meet a special guy."

Steve slung his bag over his shoulder, his stomach swooping uncomfortably at her words.

"I don't know, Nat," he said. "I don't know if I'm ready for that yet. Bucky..."

"Bucky made it clear that he wasn't ready for a relationship," interrupted Natasha, before gentling. "Come on, Steve. It's time to move on, for your sake. There are plenty more nice guys out there. You'll find the one who's right for you. But to do that, you need to actually go out and meet people."

And so it was, later that night, that Steve found himself in the middle of a gay club with Natasha, music pumping through the speakers, people grinding on the dancefloor, as he nursed his fifth vodka and coke, trying to remember if he had always found clubbing his awkward, or if this was only since he had had his heart broken by Bucky.

Natasha was having a great time, dancing enthusiastically to the music with a couple of female friends who she had bumped into at the bar. Steve was hovering awkwardly at the edge of their little group, shuffling from foot to foot in time with the music, his head spinning from the alcohol. Getting drunk usually made him loosen up and relax, but tonight, it only seemed to highlight to him just how different he felt from everyone else in the club. He felt isolated. Seeing all these happy same-sex couples dancing around him only made him pine for Bucky. None of these people had ever known love the way he had, he thought dramatically to himself, before thinking: fuck, was he really that pretentious, or was that just the alcohol talking?

It was at that moment that there was a drunken screech from beside him, before suddenly Steve found himself with a young man's arm draped around his neck, half-supporting the other man's weight as he pressed himself up unsteadily against Steve's side.

"My favourite customer!" slurred the young man. "Oh babe, you're even sexier close up."

Steve's eyes widened. It was Grocery Store Crush, dressed in a semi-transparent silver shirt and tight white booty shorts, with matching silver eyeshadow glittering on his eyelids. He was biting his lip seductively as he gazed, glassy eyed, up at Steve, obviously thrilled to see him. Just three months ago, Steve would have given anything for them to have an encounter like this. He would have locked lips with him in an instant and then taken him home to suck or fuck or whatever the young man wanted. However, now, post-Bucky, all Steve could think was that this man lacked the stubble that Steve had so adored on Bucky, that he was too young, too skinny, too needy. In the last three months, Steve had apparently developed a type – and that type was Bucky.

"Do you like what you see?" said the young man, twirling around and shimmying his juicy ass against Steve's crotch.

Steve was only human. Having a horny twink grind his round ass against Steve's cock elicited the predictable reaction, and the young man gasped with delight when he felt Steve hardening through his clothes.

"Mmm, babe!" squealed the young man. "I always knew you'd be big."

Before he knew it, Grocery Store Crush was pressing his soft lips against Steve's own, and Steve was opening his mouth in response, pulling the younger man closer as they began making out. Perhaps this was a good thing, Steve thought to himself, dazed. He had to get Bucky out of his system. And what better way to do that than to have some fun with someone else? Grocery Store Crush was attractive, even if Steve no longer got the butterflies in his stomach that he had before Thornton-le-Dale. Maybe ploughing this young man into his mattress was exactly the kind of therapy Steve needed to get over Bucky once and for all. After all, he could not possibly think about Bucky whilst being buried balls deep in another man's ass, right?

With this in mind, he redoubled his efforts, stroking his tongue hard into Grocery Store Crush's mouth, slowly sliding his hands down the young man's body until he was groping his ass, squeezing his pert cheeks, relishing the way he gasped and trembled in Steve's hands. Steve rubbed their crotches together, feeling that the other man was just as hard as Steve, albeit much smaller. With a smirk, he took the young man's hand and placed it against his crotch, thankful that the dancefloor was too dark and crowded to allow anyone else to see what they were doing. Grocery Store Crush's eyes widened with shock when he felt the size of Steve's erection, an adorable blush colouring his cheeks as he squeezed Steve's cock tentatively through his clothes.

That was when it happened. The young man's slim hand slipped into his own, bringing Steve's hand up to his mouth for an innocent kiss. Steve's breathing faltered. His thoughts came to a screeching halt. It was an action that Bucky had done many times, during their beautiful two weeks together in England. All of a sudden, it was as if someone had dumped freezing cold water over his head. Steve's mind cleared, the alcohol instantly evaporating from his system as he tugged his hand roughly out of the young man's gentle grip.

Grocery Store Crush's eyes widened with confusion. The young man immediately began stammering out an apology, tears forming in his eyes, obviously hurt and confused by Steve's rejection to him kissing his hand, especially after their heavy make-out session.

"Sorry," muttered Steve, pushing past him. "Sorry. I can't do this. It's not you, it's me. I'm not ready for this..."

He pushed his way through the crowds, looking in vain for a mop of curly red hair. He could not find Natasha anywhere, the reason becoming clear when he eventually pulled his phone out of his pocket to call her, finding a text that she had sent about half an hour before.

**From:** Natasha Romanoff

_Looks like you're having fun with a certain young gentleman ;) Remember to use a condom! I'm going home now. Talk Monday xx_

Steve shoved his phone back into his pocket, before slipping out of the club, hailing a taxi to take him home. The journey back did not take long, the streets largely empty so late at night. By the time he arrived back at his flat, he felt exhausted, as well as somehow drunker than when he had left the club. He locked the front door behind him clumsily, before staggering back to his bedroom, his head spinning after his five vodka and cokes. He collapsed on his bed, splayed out like a starfish, before pulling his phone out of his pocket and bringing up Google, fully intent on searching for Bucky online.

He stared at the little screen, immediately confronted with a problem: what the hell was he supposed to search for? He only had his first name – Bucky – which he assumed to be a nickname anyway, because what kind of name was that? He knew that he had sisters. He knew that he liked red wine. He knew his family had a tradition about making wishes on seashells. All useless, when it came to tracking Bucky down. He did not know the ins and outs of how search engines worked, but he knew enough to know that "Bucky, hot guy, blue eyes, seashells?" was not going to bring up any relevant results. All he had were memories – beautiful yet intangible and absolutely useless for Googling.

He let his phone drop to the bed, staring up at his ceiling with despair. There was no way for him to find Bucky. Natasha was right – he had to move on. Bucky had made it perfectly clear that he did not want a relationship. It was practically the first thing he had said when they had met, and he had confirmed it two weeks later by not meeting him at Harker's Point.

It had been two months since they had first met, and one and a half months since they had said goodbye.

Steve had to stop acting like some kind of weird obsessive stalker and let him go.

It was time for Steve to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/628445975845978112/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those wonderful readers who left lovely comments and kudos on the last chapter - you are all very much appreciated :)
> 
> THOUGHTS: Thank goodness Steve has Natasha as a friend. Poor Steve though, still pining for Bucky several months on. At least he's now realised that he needs to move on. How do you feel about that? As always, please let me know your thoughts, feelings and/or theories in the comments section below!
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be titled "The Novelist"...
> 
> MY NATASHA-CENTRIC FICS: If you enjoyed the focus on Natasha in this chapter, you might be interested to know I have written quite a few Natasha-centric fics! Here they are, if you fancy a read:
> 
> [Fearless](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8346310) (291,275 words) - A Black Widow origin story, exploring Natasha's life as a Red Room Academy student, KGB agent, SHIELD agent and Avenger - and how she grew to be so much more than any of those labels.
> 
> [Love Is Blind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366393) (14,512 words) - After a mission goes horribly wrong, Natasha is left completely blind. As SHIELD scientists desperately seek a cure, Natasha must come to terms with her disability.
> 
> [I Like Cats, Too](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13646094) (10,526 words) - When the Avengers are torn apart by the split caused by the Sokovia Accords, a depressed Natasha lapses into a prolonged period of silence. Will anyone be able to help Natasha overcome her depression and mutism? Enter a very special cat named Midnight.
> 
> [Black Widow By Day, Black Kitten By Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854061) (6,164 words) - Natasha dons her cat ears, Clint ties up his pet, and hardcore, steamy sex ensues.
> 
> [The Black Widow Ice Cream Parlour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253527) (3,746 words) - Natasha meets one of the people whose lives she has saved, and finally gets the appreciation she deserves.
> 
> TUMBLR: Want to follow me on Tumblr? I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) over there <3


	17. The Novelist

That night out with Natasha marked a turning point in Steve's state of mind.

Finally, he realised that there was no way for him to track down Bucky.

Finally, he accepted that he needed to let go and move on.

It felt cathartic, to draw a line under it. It was almost like a relief, to let go of the hope that they might one day miraculously be reunited and have their happily ever after. At last, he could stop looking back and start looking forward. He had fallen in love and had his heart broken, but as the old saying went, it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Thinking of Bucky was still painful, but now that he had made the conscious decision to move on, it was a much more tolerable kind of ache.

He just had to take it one day at a time. Every day, he decided, he would focus on something in his life that made him happy. After doing this for about a month, he realised that he actually had a pretty good life. He had a lot to be grateful for. He had a job that he loved. He had colleagues who felt more like family – Natasha and Phil in particular. He had a nice, albeit small, apartment – filled with many books he had read and many more in his to-read pile.

When he compared it with what a lot of people in the world went through, he had a very comfortable life.

At long last, he was beginning to heal from the pain of losing Bucky.

He was actually starting to feel pretty positive.

* * *

The next few months went by rather quickly.

Summer turned to autumn, and autumn turned to winter. Steve loved winter. It meant warm snuggly jumpers, hot chocolate and cheesy holiday films popping up with increasing frequency on the TV. He still thought about Bucky fairly often, but by now he had learnt to simply accept the pang in his heart whenever it happened, acknowledge it, and move on. Thanksgiving went by, and before he knew it, it was one week before Christmas.

On this particular Monday morning, it had been snowing, and he stamped the snow from his boots before heading into the office, instantly being hit by a warm wall of air when he entered the heated space. The mouth-wateringly festive smell of cinnamon hot chocolate wafted over from the little kitchen area. His stomach growled when he saw that Phil had brought in some of his signature homemade Christmas cookies, decorated with snowflakes, angels and reindeer. Unable to resist, he swiped a cookie from the plate on the way to his desk, sticking his head into Phil's office as he passed to thank him.

"Hey Phil! These look amazing. Thanks!"

Phil's eyes twinkled behind his glasses, obviously flattered.

"No problem," he said. "Which one are you having?"

Steve held the cookie up to show him.

"Reindeer. Shall I call him Rudolph? No, wait, I can't eat him if I give him a name..."

Phil gave a snort of laughter.

"You could start off by not calling it _him_ ," he said. "It's a cookie, Steve."

Steve nodded, before biting off the reindeer's head, only feeling marginally guilty, moaning as the deliciously sweet flavour coated his tongue. He had just turned to leave, when he heard Phil call him back, doubling back immediately to stick his head in Phil's office.

"Yeah?" he said.

"I just remembered, a new novelist came here yesterday evening," said Phil. "I think it's for a new book pitch? Anyway, he asked to see you specifically, but you'd already gone home."

Steve frowned, puzzled. That was strange. He was not sure why a novelist would want to see him in particular. He had never had a writer approach him directly before. The usual process was for writers to get in contact with Stanlee Publishers, and then there would be numerous meetings with various people before the manuscript reached Steve's desk for editing. For someone to request to see Steve for the initial meeting was decidedly odd.

"Me?" he said, confused.

"Yeah," said Phil. "He was quite insistent it had to be you. I told him to drop by this afternoon at 2pm. I hope that's cool?"

Steve nodded, still confused as hell but trying not to let it show on his face.

"Sure," he said. "Did they give their name?"

Phil scrunched up his face, wracking his brain as he thought back to the previous evening.

"I can't remember," he said. "Burns? Baines? Barnes? Something like that. He was really keen to meet you."

Steve cast his mind back, trying to remember if he had met a man with that name at any networking events. He could not recall it. He shrugged. Sure, it was an unusual request, but as Monday jobs went, it was not bad.

"No problem," he said brightly. "I'll meet the novelist."

* * *

Steve proceeded to forget about the meeting with the novelist until two minutes beforehand.

At 1:58pm, he looked up from his desk, swore, hastily booked the meeting room, and then rushed inside. He quickly set up his laptop, before trying to make the place look as professional and welcoming as possible. He swept crumbs and crumpled paper off the desk, adjusted the blinds to let in more light, and smoothed down the front of his jumper, squinting at his reflection in the window as he tried to make himself look presentable.

He wondered who the novelist was, and why he was so keen to speak to Steve in particular. Curiosity gnawed at his stomach. It was true that the various editors at Stanlee Publishers did tend to have their own areas of speciality – Steve tended to work on gay male fiction – but he could not remember if he had ever introduced himself in that way at any networking events. He wondered what kind of story the novelist had written, and what stage of completion the manuscript was at. He was fiddling with his pen absent-mindedly as he thought all this, when finally, there was a knock on the meeting room door. Ah, the novelist had arrived. Steve stood up, plastering a professional smile on his face as the door swung open, revealing the mystery man.

No.

_No._

It could not be...

It was as if someone had sucked all the air from Steve's lungs. He felt dizzy, clinging to the edge of the desk for support, barely able to believe his eyes.

Bucky walked into the room, all bundled up in a winter coat, snow melting on the top of his bobble hat. His eyes were that same shade of cornflower blue that Steve remembered so vividly from those hot summer nights in England. Bucky pulled off his hat, revealing the waves of brown hair that Steve had so loved to run his fingers through, and suddenly, it was as if a dam had burst inside Steve's chest, all those emotions that he had spent months burying and trying to get under control finally bursting forth, a tsunami of pain and confusion and jubilation.

"Hey, Steve," said Bucky – and damn, his voice was exactly as Steve remembered it.

Suddenly, Steve wanted to cry. He was emotionally exhausted. He had spent months fantasising about this exact scenario, but now that it was finally happening, he had no idea how to feel. He was ecstatic to see Bucky, yet also so confused and, admittedly, angry. He was _done_. He had spent months trying to get over Bucky, had actually managed to convince himself that he had moved on – only for Bucky to rip all that progress from under his feet the moment he walked back into his life. All of a sudden, it was as if none of the last six months had happened. It was as if he had flown back to Boston only yesterday, his heart freshly broken and the pain as raw as ever.

"What are you doing here?" said Steve, his voice tight.

Bucky pulled off his coat, taking a seat at the meeting table as he looked at Steve earnestly.

"I've written a novel," said Bucky.

Steve stared at him in disbelief for one long moment, before banging his fist on the table, his confusion and frustration bubbling over into near hysteria. He wanted to scream. The knowledge that his colleagues were on the other side of the door was the only thing stopping him.

"You're not here because you've written a fucking novel!" ranted Steve. "Phil told me that you specifically asked to see _me_!"

At Steve's outburst, Bucky's face immediately crumpled into an expression of concern. He looked so genuine, so caring, that Steve could not stand it – not knowing how heartlessly Bucky had left him to wait at Harker's Point.

"Steve, I–" began Bucky.

"Do you have any idea how hard the last six months have been for me?!" said Steve, his voice cracking. "In fact, no – don't answer that. Just... What are you doing here? If you've just come to fuck with my head, then you can _go_."

"I'm not leaving," said Bucky.

" _Bucky_ –"

Steve was cut off by Bucky's hand slipping into his own. He stared down at their joined hands, tears prickling his eyes as he remembered all the times they had done this before. Holding Bucky's hand was exactly as he remembered it – the familiar shape and weight of it, the texture of his skin, the warmth of him.

"I've written a novel," repeated Bucky, speaking slowly and clearly, and at last, Steve began to listen. "It's about these two guys who meet on vacation in England. Let's call them Dumbass #1 and Dumbass #2. Anyway, these guys spend two amazing weeks together in this little village called Thornton-le-Dale. They go on day trips together, learn about one another, make love every night. They fall in love with one another, but they can't admit it out loud because, like I said, they're a couple of dumbasses."

A tear rolled silently down Steve's cheek.

"Eventually, it gets to Dumbass #1's last day in England," continued Bucky. "So, what does he do? He tells Dumbass #2 to meet him at Harker's Point if he wants to stay in touch and carry on their relationship. Then he goes off to Harker's Point to wait, and Dumbass #2 goes to his guest room to make his decision."

Steve pulled his hand free from Bucky's grip. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. It was too painful to hear their story spoken aloud. He knew what came next. Bucky never turned up at Harker's Point. He had not wanted to keep in touch. He had not wanted to carry on their relationship. He had not loved Steve the way Steve had loved him.

"Stop," whispered Steve. "Please... Why are you doing this? We both know what happened next."

Bucky shook his head firmly, his eyes bright, almost feverish, as if he were desperate to make Steve understand something.

" _No_ ," said Bucky. "You _don't_ know what happened next. Because from this point on, these two dumbasses have two very different stories to tell."

Steve rubbed a hand down his face, exhausted and drained.

"What are you talking about?" he said.

" _I wanted to meet you at Harker's Point,_ " said Bucky, the words exploding out of him. "I went back to my room and made my decision. I wanted to stay in touch. I wanted to keep seeing you. I went running out of Buttercup Cottage to go meet you at Harker's Point, and got... got hit by a car. I didn't even see it coming. I was looking the wrong way – thinking of American roads rather than British ones with their stupid driving-on-the-left rule. I woke up three days later in hospital – but by then, you were long gone."

Steve's breath caught in his throat. It was difficult to breathe. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest as he remembered, with blinding clarity, watching the ambulance arriving at and leaving Thornton-le-Dale, as he waited at Harker's Point. He had not thought anything of it at the time, simply noting how different it looked from American ambulances, with its strange yellow and green chequered pattern and blue flashing lights. Bucky had been inside that ambulance, all along. Bucky, knocked out cold after being hit by a car as he rushed out to meet Steve at Harker's Point. He suddenly felt sick.

"I've spent the last six months searching for you," Bucky continued softly. "Do you know how much of a pain in the ass that's been? There's got to be like a million guys in the US called Steve! So, I got sleuthing, tried to fit together clues to track you down. Your accent put you in the north east – Maine, New Hampshire, or Massachusetts. That's still like, three entire states, so it didn't massively help. But then, I remembered you said you worked for an LGBT publishing house. That was my eureka moment! I did some research and could only find a few dozen LGBT publishers in those three states. So, I started researching those publishing houses, looking up their websites, and what did I see on the staff page of Stanlee Publishers' website? Your photo! I booked a flight to Boston right then and there."

Bucky finished his story, looking a little flustered, his eyes shining as he gazed at Steve. Steve sat in stunned silence, gobsmacked, struggling to digest what he had just heard. All this time, he had thought Bucky had not gone to Harker's Point out of choice. All this time, he had thought Bucky had not returned his feelings. And all this time, whilst Steve had tried to come to terms with his heartbreak and move on, Bucky had been frantically trying to track him down, to put the record straight, to right the terrible wrong that had occurred that day.

"So, at Harker's Point..." Steve said tentatively. "You wanted to meet me there?"

Bucky made a little noise that might have been a strangled sob, his face crumpling with sadness at Steve's question.

"Oh, Steve," he said. "I wanted to meet you there more than anything."

Later, Steve would not remember who initiated the hug, but once they embraced, neither of them let go of the other for a very long time.

* * *

At Steve's insistence, Bucky went home with him that evening after work.

It was surreal, to see and speak to him again, after so long apart. There were some obvious differences. For example, whilst in England the heatwave had meant Bucky had only worn t-shirts and shorts (and less...), the cold Boston winter meant he was dressed in very different attire: a thick navy-blue winter coat, a warm woolly jumper, a cream-coloured scarf, hat and gloves. Steve snuck little glances at him on the subway ride back home, marvelling at how a man could look so damn good in both. In other ways, it felt as if no time had passed at all. There was no awkwardness between them, no stilted silences or lack of things to say.

When they finally arrived back at the flat, Steve could not take his eyes off Bucky. It was such a bizarre sight, to see him standing there so casually in Steve's space, as if he belonged there. Presently, they were in Steve's kitchen, Bucky leaning against the countertop as Steve whipped up some pasta and sauce, pouring them out into two bowls. As they ate, Steve found that he kept looking up anxiously, checking that Bucky was still there, half-afraid that the other man might vanish again, like he had when he had been so cruelly stopped from meeting Steve at Harker's Point. After a while, Bucky seemed to notice this, placing a gentle hand on Steve's arm.

"It's OK," Bucky said softly. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere – unless you want to kick me out."

Steve let out a little huff of awkward laughter, a little embarrassed that Bucky had noticed his anxious glances.

"Sorry," said Steve. "I guess I'm just... just having a hard time accepting this. I thought..."

He trailed off into silence, biting his lip. Bucky scooted his chair closer to Steve's, wrapping an arm around his shoulder gently. They both knew what Steve had thought. Steve had thought that Bucky had not loved him, had not wanted to stay in touch. Seeing him again was an emotional rollercoaster, all his assumptions turned on their head; a joyful, confusing, overwhelming maelstrom of emotions.

"I know what you thought," said Bucky quietly. "And you were justified in thinking it. There's no way you could have known I was in the ambulance. Damn... We really fucked up, didn't we?"

Steve gave a watery smile.

"Well, we are Dumbass #1 and Dumbass #2," he said.

Bucky nodded, looking deep in thought, before sticking out his hand for Steve to shake. Steve stared at it, not entirely following what was going on.

"What are you doing?" said Steve.

"What I should have done six months ago," said Bucky firmly. "Just shake my hand, God damn it, so I don't look like such an idiot."

Steve snorted, shaking his hand politely, nonetheless.

"My name's James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky for short. I live in New York City, I'm 34 years old, and I'm crazy about you. If you... if you still want to stay in touch and try dating, then I'm 100% up for that."

Steve's hand went stiff in Bucky's, tears suddenly welling up in his eyes as Bucky's words slowly penetrated his mind. At last, Steve knew his name. _James Buchanan Barnes_. Who knew that so much power existed in knowing something so simple as a name? It felt as if Bucky had just provided the missing piece to a puzzle Steve had been struggling with for so long, finally making the picture complete. At last, Steve had a name for the man he had fallen so head over heels in love with. Forcing himself not to start bawling, Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat and fixed his gaze on Bucky's beautiful blue eyes.

"I'm Steve Rogers. Boston. 35 years old. Except, I guess you'd already worked most of that out, anyway."

Bucky chuckled, giving him a cheeky wink.

"The fact I'm sitting in your kitchen implies that, yeah."

Steve sighed, running a hand down his face, pretending to be annoyed.

"Oh, God. Were you always this obnoxious?"

"Yep!" said Bucky happily. "It's one of the reasons why you love me."

It was a casual comment, a well-known phrase, but the moment it slipped inadvertently past Bucky's lips, both of them fell silent, that loaded word – _love_ – hanging in the air between them.

"I..." said Steve, petering off, before licking his lips, meeting Bucky's eyes shyly. "I would like to try dating, yeah."

Bucky's eyes lit up with hope, his breath catching at Steve's words.

"Yeah?" he said. "The train's pretty reliable between New York and Boston. Or we can drive, or fly! Oh, you said you were scared of flying, right? Scratch that, then. But train or car are still valid options. We should be able to visit each other alright."

Steve smiled at Bucky's enthusiasm, his chest aching with emotion as he reached forward and took Bucky's hand in his. For a long moment, Bucky looked down at their joined hands, before gently lifting Steve's hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. Steve's heart rate sped up. His gaze zeroed in on Bucky's lips, that same dusky shade of pink that he remembered so clearly. His own lips tingled with the memory of what it had been like to kiss them, the air between them suddenly thick with tension as they stared at one another's mouths, both apparently lost in the same train of thought.

Slowly, carefully, giving Bucky all the time in the world to move away if he did not want it, Steve leant forwards until his lips were gently brushing against Bucky's own, the familiar smell of him filling him with the ache of nostalgia. For a moment, they simply sat there, lips touching, breathing in each other's air, until Bucky reached a hand around the back of Steve's head, drawing him in for a deep kiss.

The first kiss was slow, gentle, the two of them re-familiarising themselves with the taste and texture of one another's lips. Steve dug his fingers into the soft warmness of Bucky's jumper, closing his eyes as he ran his tongue over Bucky's. He revelled in the coarse facial hair rubbing against his own, a thousand memories unfurling in his mind.

The second kiss was needier, hotter, their hands running over one another's bodies, fingers fluttering over muscles, tugging at clothing, itching to touch bare skin, both of them hot and getting hotter as they reacquainted themselves to the touch of one another's bodies.

Afterwards – naked, panting and spent – they curled up together under the duvet in Steve's bedroom. Steve wrapped up Bucky in his arms, nuzzling against his damp skin as Bucky pressed a kiss against his temple. They basked in the fuzzy afterglow, cradling one another tenderly, neither of them wanting to let the other go.

They fell asleep in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/629160977254039552/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> FORESHADOWING #1 - THE CAR ACCIDENT: Well done if you correctly guessed the reason why Bucky did not meet Steve at Harker's Point! It was foreshadowed and hinted at several times throughout this story. The most obvious hint was in chapter 14, when I spent a whole paragraph describing how the ambulance went into Thornton-le-Dale and then whizzed away about ten minutes later whilst Steve waited at Harker's Point. There were also several more subtle instances of foreshadowing earlier on in the story, where I pointed out that cars drive on the left in the UK, rather than the right like in America, meaning that Americans might be at higher risk of being hit by a car because they might instinctively look the wrong way. This was actually one of the first things that Jemma said to Steve in chapter 1. It was also briefly mentioned in chapter 5 when the boys went to Durham, when Steve thought to himself how weird it was to see cars driving on the "wrong" side of the road.
> 
> FORESHADOWING #2 - STANLEE PUBLISHERS' NEW WEBSITE: Well done if any of you thought that Stanlee Publishers' new website might be important. Every detail is included for a reason, and I've dropped mentions throughout this story that Natasha was working on a new website and that Steve would have to have his photo taken for it (in chapters 7 and 16). The reason, of course, was so that Bucky would have a way to find Steve!
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you for your lovely comments on the last chapter! It seems you guys love reading angst just as much as I enjoy writing it. We have passed the angsty stage of the fic now though - it's ever increasing amounts of romantic fluff from here on out! <3
> 
> THOUGHTS: Squeeee! Steve and Bucky have been reunited! Bucky had wanted to meet Steve at Harker's Point all along! Bucky loved Steve all along! I love love love hearing readers' reactions, so please feel free to share your thoughts, feelings and squealings in the comments section below :D
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will follow Steve and Bucky's blossoming relationship over the course of the next year <3
> 
> TUMBLR: I post chapter art and exclusive Hot Summer Nights teasers on my Tumblr, if you want even more content to do with this story! I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) if that sounds like your kind of thing.


	18. Second Chance

Bucky had to go back to New York City two days after their dramatic reunion in the meeting room of Stanlee Publishers, but not before they exchanged a copious amount of contact details: phone numbers, email addresses, physical addresses, social media handles, workplace details. They were both hyper-aware of how easily they had slipped through one another's fingers at Harker's Point, and were determined never to lose one another so easily again.

Thankfully, New York City and Boston were not too far away, in the grand scheme of things. Steve was thankful that Bucky was within train and bus distance – and not, for example, living in California, where the only viable option would have been a dreaded flight. They arranged to meet in New York City three weeks later, and Steve found himself counting down the days to mid-January, the spring in his step getting ever more pronounced every time he saw the calendar, as every day brought him closer to seeing Bucky again.

By the time mid-January came around, Steve was practically climbing the walls. As he boarded the train bound for New York City, he was jittering with excitement, a bag containing the essentials for three nights away perched on his lap. The journey felt excruciatingly long, each second crawling by at a snail's pace as the train rumbled along the tracks. He tried to distract himself from the time by simply looking out of the window, and after a while, it became a surprisingly effective technique, his literary mind wandering to all the train-related novels he had ever read.

The train pulled into Grand Central Terminal around four hours later. Steve squeezed out onto the busy platform with his fellow travellers, being swept along by the crowd towards the main concourse, gasping a little when the beautiful turquoise ceiling came into view, adorned by celestial constellations painted in gold leaf. He stopped for a moment, staring up at it, enthralled by the view, passengers streaming around him as they hurried along on their way. A second later, a familiar voice spoke in his ear; that slightly nasal New York drawl that Steve had come to love so much.

"Looks pretty cool, right?" said Bucky. "Not a patch on seeing the real thing in Thornton-le-Dale, though. That place had crazy good air quality."

Steve turned around, taking in Bucky's twinkling eyes and the way he was looking _so damn good_ in a leather jacket, before flinging his arms around him, a warm fuzzy feeling exploding in his chest when Bucky embraced him just as enthusiastically. They hugged for a while, just savouring it, until Bucky eventually took him by the hand and guided him through the crowds.

"Good journey?" said Bucky.

"Any journey is good when you're at the end of it," said Steve.

Bucky snorted, pulling Steve towards the subway.

"Wow, be careful you don't get a cavity from all that sweetness."

The subway ride back to Bucky's home was a noisy one, the wheels screeching, the sound reverberating along the enclosed tunnels. It was a relief to finally escape into the open air, Bucky leading the way along the pavements towards the block of flats he called home. Steve looked around in interest as they walked. Bucky lived in Brooklyn, in a neighbourhood that reminded Steve a little of his own, all old red bricks and urban jungle. Finally, Bucky led the way up the steps to his block of flats, heading along the corridor until he reached his front door, unlocking it and throwing it open with aplomb, as if unveiling some grand prize.

"Ta-da! Welcome to my humble abode."

Steve smiled as he entered Bucky's home. It was a small, one-bedroom flat, warm and homely although a little cramped for the two of them. Not that Steve particularly minded that latter point; after all, it gave him an excuse to get close to Bucky. The whole place had a slightly old-fashioned, cosy vibe, reminding him a little of Buttercup Cottage. He nuzzled his nose affectionately into Bucky's neck as he put down his bag in the bedroom, thankful to offload the weight after the long journey.

"You've got a gorgeous home," said Steve. "Thanks for letting me stay."

Bucky seemed surprised but pleased at the compliment, smiling and kissing Steve on the nose in response.

"Having my boyfriend stay over isn't exactly a hardship," said Bucky.

 _Boyfriend_. The word caught Steve off guard. He smiled slowly, testing the word out in his mind, swirling it over his tongue. He liked it; hearing Bucky refer to him as his boyfriend. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes: _boyfriends_. That fluttering sensation returned to his stomach, making him feel like some blushing teenager, hiding his smile behind his hand.

"So, what do you want to do today?" said Bucky. "We could be tourists. Or we could do nothing – we've got four days, no need to rush."

Steve chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"I've always wanted to do the cliché thing and go to Central Park," he admitted. "It always looks so cool in movies and things."

Bucky smiled, planting a kiss on Steve's cheek.

"Then we'll go to Central Park," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

One subway ride later, they were walking out into Central Park, Steve looking around in wide-eyed wonder at this beautiful slice of greenery in the middle of the bustling city. He gave a little squeak when he recognised the lake and bridge from Home Alone, pointing these out to Bucky. Bucky laughed, intertwining his fingers with Steve's, tugging his scarf a little closer to his neck to guard against the January chill.

"You're adorkable, you know that, right?" said Bucky.

"Adorkable?" said Steve, confused.

"Adorable. Dorky. An adorable dork."

"Oh."

They walked a little further, until an impressive skyscraper came into view. It was a curious shape, with a protruding platform near the top, the word "Stark" written out in bold lettering along the rim of the platform. Bucky saw Steve squinting at it and squeezed his hand, before launching into tour guide mode, obviously pleased to be able to show off some local knowledge as he took Steve on a tour of the sights.

"That's Stark Tower," said Bucky. "You must have heard of Tony Stark, right? He's this cool tech genius billionaire in the renewable energy industry. Donates loads to environmental projects. And he's like, really weird – but in a good way. Last summer, he set up a giant inflatable pool in the park for a zorbing contest, just for a laugh! Oh, to be rich and eccentric..."

Steve laughed, imagining the chaos of people flailing around inside zorb balls on the water.

"Have you ever zorbed?" asked Bucky.

Oh gosh, what a story. Steve immediately had flashbacks of the time Phil had persuaded the entire staff of Stanlee Publishers to go to a zorb park for a day of team building. It had been an unmitigated disaster, with Natasha's fiercely competitive streak being violently unleashed, resulting in her deliberately crashing her ball into everyone else's as part of some game that she had invented within the confines of her transparent orb of hell.

"Just once," Steve said mysteriously. "With work. It was meant to be this team building and morale boosting day out, you know? I went home that evening with multiple bruises and my dignity in shreds. Never again."

Bucky laughed, the sound hearty and carefree, and _damn –_ there went the butterflies in Steve's stomach again.

"I'm going to find out the full story from you, one day," teased Bucky. "Got to learn all your most embarrassing moments."

Steve smiled.

"Tell me about your family," he said, smoothly sidestepping the infamous zorb story. "You said you have sisters?"

Bucky's face immediately lit up.

"You remembered!" he said. "Three younger sisters, yeah: Becca, Charlotte and Emma. There's just two years between each of us, so we were all pretty close, growing up. Becca's the sassiest – me and her would get into all kinds of trouble together when we were kids; prank wars, practical jokes, that kind of stuff. Charlotte's the smart one – she's quiet, likes books, a really calm and zen kind of person. Emma's the wild child – she's got this cool artistic flair; she loves painting and art and music and all kinds of hippy stuff."

He dug his phone out of his pocket, letting go of Steve's hand to start scrolling through his photos. He quickly pulled up a photo of himself with three women, passing Steve his phone to take a look.

"That's the four of us at Christmas," said Bucky. "Becca's the one with short brown hair, Charlotte's the blonde, Emma's the one with pink and blue hair."

Steve looked at the photo, smiling as he saw the four of them huddled close together, their arms around one another, grinning at the camera, obviously a very close and loving family. The four siblings had four very different styles – Bucky in a dorky Christmas jumper, Becca looking casual, Charlotte in a neat knee-length floral dress, Emma wearing some kind of tie-dye onesie – but they shared the same warm smile, the same bright blue eyes, the same face shape.

"I'll introduce you to them some time!" said Bucky. "They're really cool. And Becca has the sweetest little kids! Scott and Kimberly. I'm the cool uncle."

"You're the only uncle," Steve pointed out.

Bucky pouted, swiping his phone from Steve's hand.

"Rude!"

They continued their walk around Central Park, admiring the crisp beauty of it in winter, the frost covering the ground, the ice creeping at the edges of the lake. It was stunning, but the most beautiful thing of all was to share it with Bucky; to hold his hand, to hear his voice, to be together once more.

Steve had thought they would never meet again. He had accepted the tragedy of having loved him and lost him over those two weeks during that balmy English summer the year before. For them to have been reunited, to have their second chance, felt like a blessing – one that he did not take for granted, but cherished for all it was worth.

* * *

In March, Bucky came to visit Steve in Boston for four days.

Bucky immediately fell in love with the city. He adored the architecture, the creative vibe, the vibrancy, the green spaces. They spent the first day as tourists, Steve showing Bucky around the best sights, Bucky looking around with delight at each newly discovered wonder. The second day was more relaxed, the two of them cooking together and chilling out at the flat, before ending the day with a long, slow love-making session. It was the evening of the third day, however, that was perhaps the most interesting, as that was when Natasha invited herself over for a night of board games and tacos. Bucky was surprised to hear they were having company, but happy nonetheless to meet one of Steve's closest friends.

There was just one niggling problem... As the time of Natasha's arrival drew closer, Steve found himself growing increasingly nervous. It was not that Natasha was an unfriendly person – on the contrary, Steve considered her to be a brilliant friend – it was that Natasha had an _intensity_ to her that was occasionally terrifying if one was not used to her. Basically, she was a scary motherfucker. And Steve did not want her to scare Bucky so badly that he ran for the hills. Upon hearing the knock at his front door, Steve quickly hurried over. Feeling slightly foolish, he looked around anxiously to make sure Bucky was not within earshot, before opening the door and pulling Natasha aside before she could enter the flat. Natasha looked down at Steve's hand on her arm, before flicking her gaze up to his face, her green eyes narrowing.

"What are you doing?" she said. "You know that I know six different forms of martial arts, right? I could break your arm right now without breaking a sweat. I've done it before when some guy tried to mug me."

Steve wrung his hands desperately. This was exactly why he needed to talk to Natasha before letting her loose on Bucky.

"Natasha," he said weakly. "Can you, uh, try not to be... terrifying? Please?"

Natasha's eyebrows shot up in astonishment, as if it had never occurred to her that others might consider her intimidating. She gave a little scoff of laughter, bustling past him and barging into his apartment.

"What are you talking about?" she said. "I'm not terrifying."

Steve watched in horror as she strode purposefully into his home, before dashing after her, catching up with her just as she entered the lounge. Natasha marched up to where Bucky was sitting on the sofa, towering over him, before holding out her hand rigidly. Bucky stared up at her, taking in her intelligent green eyes and regal posture, before grinning mischievously, shaking her hand politely and inclining his head in a little bow.

"I'm Bucky! Pleasure to meet you."

"My name is Natasha Romanoff. Steve is my best friend."

The way she said "best friend" made it sound like a terrible threat, her tone dark and ominous. Steve stared in horror at the social train wreck unfolding in front of him, unable to understand how Bucky could keep smiling as Natasha stared at him with enough focused intensity to burn holes in metal, apparently unphased.

"That's cool, Natasha Romanoff," said Bucky. "Hey, can I call you Nat?"

"No."

"Sit down with me, Nat," winked Bucky. "I'm not scary, I swear."

Steve gawped, unsure whether to be impressed or horrified that Bucky had, a) just defied a direct order and called Natasha "Nat", and b) had the balls to reassure Natasha that _he_ was not scary, when Natasha was demonstrably the scarier of the two of them. Natasha stared at him intently for a moment, before smiling, sliding onto the sofa beside him, curling her legs beneath her like a cat.

"Hey, Steve," said Natasha, not taking her eyes off Bucky. "I brought tacos. How about you grab us some board games?"

Steve hovered awkwardly in the doorway. He knew what was going to happen. As soon as he left the room, Natasha was going to do something outrageously terrifying, like give Bucky the shovel talk or try to figure out his character by subjecting him to a battery of psychological tests. Natasha was a fiercely loyal friend, but sometimes that could spill over into being a little too over-protective, for example, when meeting the new boyfriend.

"Sure," said Steve. "Just... Remember what I said when you arrived, yeah?"

_Can you try not to be terrifying? Please?_

Natasha smiled.

"Fetch the board games."

Not seeing a way out of it, Steve complied, shooting Bucky an apologetic look as he hurried off to grab some multiplayer board games from his bedroom. He returned to the lounge a few minutes later, his step faltering when he saw Bucky and Natasha deep in conversation.

"Steve's my best friend, and I respect the hell out of him, but he's sensitive, do you understand?" Natasha was saying. "He's like a delicate little flower. Fragile. Dainty. Pure."

Steve blushed crimson in the doorway.

"I'm not a delicate little flower!" he spluttered.

The two of them ignored him.

"What I'm saying is, he's easily hurt," continued Natasha. "So, if you ever purposefully hurt him – if you cheat on him, if you treat him badly, if you break his heart – I'll track you down and make your life a living hell."

Steve cringed, wishing with all his might that the ground could open up and swallow him whole. This was exactly the situation he had been afraid of. Natasha's protective instincts had got the better of her, like a guard dog defending their home against a threat. Bucky was going to freak out and leave. He was not going to want to meet any more of Steve's friends or family. He was going to hate Natasha and–

"Cool. That sounds good to me," said Bucky.

_Wait... what?_

Natasha, it seemed, was having the same train of thought.

"Did... did you hear what I just said? I said that if you hurt Steve–"

"I heard you," said Bucky calmly. "But you don't need to worry. I'm not going to hurt Steve. I never want to hurt him. So, if I ever do, then come find me and give me a kick up the ass. I'm glad Steve has friends like you to look out for him."

There was a long moment of silence, before Natasha gave a surprised laugh, the sound light and carefree. She smiled, her whole demeanour changing. She launched herself across the sofa and wrapped Bucky in a tight hug, before apparently noticing Steve standing in the doorway, grinning and gesturing for him to join them.

"Bucky and I are friends now," she declared, before noticing the board games in Steve's arms. "Ooh! You've got Pandemic! I _love_ playing Pandemic!"

The rest of the evening proceeded smoothly, the three of them instantly falling into a rhythm of banter, talking and concentrating on the game. It turned out that Bucky and Natasha had a lot in common, with both of them enjoying action films, having an interest in gadgets and being able to speak Russian (Natasha due to her family heritage, Bucky due to minoring in Russian at university). Occasionally, they would exchange quips in the language, glancing at Steve and giggling as they did so, suspiciously as if they were talking about him, seemingly highly amused that Steve could not understand what they were saying. It was only when Steve threatened to fetch his phone and turn on Google Translate that they finally subsided.

A few hours into the game, Bucky went for a bathroom break, leaving Steve and Natasha alone together. Munching on a taco, Steve shot Natasha a look.

"I heard you talking to Bucky earlier... I thought I told you not to give him the shovel talk."

Natasha grimaced, at least having the decency to look apologetic. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, her green eyes looking at him beseechingly.

"Sorry," she said. "Don't worry though, I was only 10% terrifying."

Steve laughed nervously.

If that was 10%, he did not want to see 100%.

* * *

Of course, living in different cities, they could not be together all the time. There were only a finite number of days they could take off work, and the price of travel added up.

Thankfully, however, when they could not meet up in person, there was always technology. Steve and Bucky messaged one another almost every day, checking in on one another, sending pictures from their everyday lives, and exchanging funny animal GIFs and videos. What Steve looked forward to most of all, however, were their Skype dates. They always made an effort to dress up, just like they would for a real date, sometimes arranging themes beforehand, which could range from the likes of "fancy restaurant" to "beach day".

On this particular June evening, the weather on the East Coast was so hot that the theme was simply "underwear", and when Bucky answered Steve's video call, Steve was greeted by the extremely pleasing sight of Bucky sprawled out on his bed, wearing nothing but a tight pair of leopard-print briefs. Steve leaned closer to the screen for a better look, biting his lip when Bucky deliberately rolled his hips with a smirk.

"Well, hello there, darling," drawled Bucky. "Like what you see?"

Steve groaned when Bucky rubbed a hand down the front of his briefs, his own hand longing to stroke Bucky's impressive bulge instead.

"It's unfair how sexy you are," said Steve. "I'm just wearing a pair of ugly old boxers."

Bucky's eyes gleamed as he leaned closer to his screen.

"Show me?"

Feeling slightly self-conscious about his old, tattered, worn-out underwear, Steve adjusted the angle of the laptop so that it showed his whole body, smiling shyly when Bucky immediately moaned appreciatively, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Gorgeous," said Bucky. "You could wear a paper bag and you'd still be gorgeous to me."

Steve blushed, unable to stop the grin that immediately spread across his face, Bucky's words effectively reducing his heart to a pile of goo.

"You're a soppy romantic," said Steve.

"And you literally chose soppy romance novels as a career," countered Bucky. "I think we're a great match."

Steve smiled. Even though they had been officially dating for the last six months, Bucky still managed to make his heart flutter; those sweet and unexpected moments were still special and treasured.

"How's your week been?" asked Bucky.

"Pretty good," said Steve. "Phil took the office on our annual team building trip a few days ago. Laser Quest. Thank God I was on Natasha's team."

Bucky laughed heartily. By now, he had met and experienced Natasha enough times to know what she was like. "Fiercely competitive" was an understatement.

"Did any of the other team live to tell the tale?" he asked.

"Only because they weren't real bullets," said Steve. "She absolutely obliterated them. Never knew she was so good at shooting."

"Well, that's terrifying..."

"Fun, though," smiled Steve. "Oh! I joined this local group of fine artists. It's just an informal thing, but there's meetings every week that people can just drop into and paint while meeting other artists. It was great!"

Bucky smiled.

"That's awesome," he said. "Oh, that reminds me – Emma came to stay with me for a few days last weekend. You know, my arty sister? Anyway, look what she made me!"

He panned the camera around to reveal a new painting on the wall, showing a strangely familiar sight: a little village scene, old English houses with terracotta roof tiles, a stream running directly beside the main road, flowers blooming in the gardens. Steve's eyes widened. The painting was beautiful, full of so much vibrancy and life that Steve could practically feel the ghost of last summer's English heatwave. He wondered how Emma had managed to capture the essence of Thornton-le-Dale so perfectly.

"I took some pictures of the village when we were there," said Bucky, picking up on Steve's unspoken question. "She did an amazing job of translating it onto canvas."

"It's beautiful," murmured Steve, impressed by Emma's bold brush strokes.

"Also, do you know that it's almost one year since we met in Thornton-le-Dale?" said Bucky. "I was looking at the dates earlier. In six days’ time, it'll be exactly a year since we checked into Buttercup Cottage."

Steve's eyes widened with shock. He had vaguely known that the time was coming up, but he had not known the exact date. Oh, how strange it was, to think it was almost a year since he had first fallen in love with this beautiful soul. He remembered the first time he had laid eyes on Bucky, rushing out of his room whilst late to the conference, spilling the other man's tea onto the rose-patterned rug. He wondered if the tea stain was still there, or if Jemma or Leo had noticed and cleaned it up. Part of him wished for it still to be there.

"Wasn't it beautiful?" Steve said softly. "Thornton-le-Dale."

Bucky smiled, his eyes going a little misty as he reminisced.

"Yeah," he said. "Gorgeous scenery. Great food. Lots of hot sex with the guy staying in the room next door."

"Bucky!"

"What?! Can you blame me for being distracted when you're looking all sexy in your boxers?"

Steve shook his head with a little smile.

"These boxers are ugly."

"Take them off, then."

There was a beat of silence, the sexual tension ratcheting up between them, raising the temperature of the room by a few degrees. The first time they had had video sex several months before had been slightly awkward, neither of them used to intimacy without the physical touching. They had quickly got used to it, however, and since then had enjoyed many simultaneous jerk-off sessions, even buying some toys to spice things up even further. Bucky was particularly a fan of getting Steve to fuck himself in the ass with a large, realistic-looking dildo, never failing to come quickly when he watched the thick toy ploughing Steve's hole.

Biting his lip in a way he hoped was seductive, Steve shimmied out of his boxers, kicking them off onto the floor, before stretching out in front of the camera, totally nude, his cock hardening under Bucky's rapt attention.

"So hot," murmured Bucky, palming himself through his tight leopard-print briefs. "Wish I could suck it."

Steve groaned, wrapping a hand around himself, imagining Bucky's hand there instead – or even better, his mouth.

"Yeah?" he said breathlessly. "Think you could make me come with just your mouth?"

"Oh, you know I could... We did that last time you were in New York, remember?"

A dribble of pre-come leaked from Steve's cock at the memory, his hand slowly starting to jerk himself off as Bucky pulled down his underwear, revealing his own rock-hard erection. Steve leaned closer to the screen, a little breathless as he watched Bucky's hand wrap around his shaft and begin pumping in slow, languid movements.

"Taste yourself for me," said Bucky. "Wish I could taste you, right now."

Steve shivered. He loved it when Bucky gave him orders in the bedroom. He eagerly complied, gathering some pre-come on his fingers and then slowly sucking them, a frisson of excitement going through him when he saw Bucky's cock visibly throb in response. He closed his eyes, really putting on a show as he sucked on his fingers, imagining it were Bucky's cock in his mouth instead, imagining the musky scent of him, the weight of his balls resting against Steve's chin, the taste of his pre-come on Steve's tongue.

"God, that's so hot," panted Bucky. "You're so fucking gorgeous."

Steve re-opened his eyes, watching as Bucky masturbated on the screen, his hand quickening, breathy moans coming from the other man's mouth. Steve began jerking himself off once more, enraptured by the sight of Bucky playing with himself, watching the outward signs of his pleasure, the increasing speed of his wrist, the guttural nature of his moans, the blush that was creeping up his chest and neck.

Steve imagined himself bouncing on top of Bucky's cock, having that thick girth pound hard against his prostate. Perhaps they could switch. He remembered the hot, velvety tightness of Bucky's ass, burying himself to the hilt, fucking him hard and fast into the mattress.

"I'm getting close," gasped Steve, reaching for a tissue.

"No!" said Bucky. "No tissues. I want you to come all over yourself."

It was those debauched words, along with Bucky's commanding tone of voice, that pushed Steve over the edge embarrassingly quickly, come spraying all over his chest and abdomen just a few desperate strokes later, painting himself with long white stripes as he cried out, his pleasure pulsing through him rhythmically. Bucky came a few moments later, seizing up on the screen as come began spurting from his own tip, delicious pulses of liquid that had Steve's mouth watering even at a distance.

They came down from their high slowly, breathing hard, sweat glistening on their bodies. Steve watched Bucky on the screen and was taken by a sudden longing to hold him, to kiss him, to cuddle up with him in real life.

"I love you," he said instead.

Bucky smiled, his face soft and earnest as he leaned towards the camera, blowing him a little kiss.

"I love you, too."

* * *

They decided to spend Thanksgiving with Steve's parents.

It was Bucky's first time meeting Steve's family; a fact that was causing him considerable anxiety. Presently, Steve was waiting for him at Boston train station, his phone pinging every few minutes with messages from Bucky as the train carried him ever closer.

**From:** Bucky Barnes

_Due to arrive in 10 minutes. I've made some pie to contribute to the meal x_

**From:** Bucky Barnes

_I've also bought flowers for your mom, is that ok or creepy??_

**From:** Bucky Barnes

_On a scale of 0 to Natasha, how terrifying are your parents???_

**From:** Bucky Barnes

_Really regretting not getting something for your dad now. Shall I see if I can buy him anything at the station? Due to arrive in 2 mins! x_

Steve smiled. It was sweet, really, how anxious Bucky was to make a good impression with Steve's parents; it showed how much he cared, how important it was to him to have the acceptance of Steve's loved ones. Not that Bucky had any reason to be anxious; Steve's parents were thrilled at the prospect of finally meeting him, his mother actually having burst into tears of joy when Steve had suggested inviting Bucky round for the Thanksgiving celebrations. He turned up the collars of his coat against the brisk autumnal chill, watching as the train from New York City finally pulled into the station, before disgorging its passengers onto the platform.

He caught sight of Bucky about a minute later, a colourful bouquet of flowers in one hand, a large bag cradled protectively to his chest in the other. He made a beeline towards Steve, looking just as stressed as he had sounded in his messages.

"I'm so sorry! The train was five minutes late leaving New York! Are we going to make it on time to your parents? Oh God, I knew I should have caught the earlier train..."

"We'll be fine," said Steve, firmly but kindly cutting off Bucky's nervous rambling. "There's plenty of time. Come on, let's go. I parked two blocks away."

Bucky followed Steve through the crowd, unzipping his coat when they exited the station, sighing as the cool breeze snaked across his clothes. Steve's eyes widened when he saw what Bucky was wearing, both touched and surprised by his choice of attire.

"You're wearing a suit?" said Steve.

Bucky glanced down at himself briefly, nodding. He was wearing a smart navy-blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and a thin black tie. He peered anxiously at Steve's clothing, noticing he was simply wearing a smart pair of jeans and a warm knitted jumper.

"Yeah, I figured I should dress up to meet your parents for the first time," said Bucky. "It's a big deal. Do I... do I look OK?"

Steve smiled, leaning over to give him a quick kiss.

"You look great," said Steve. "I didn't know you were going to dress up. If I'd known, I'd have dressed up too."

"Is it too much?" said Bucky, his eyes widening. "Does it look like I'm trying too hard? I don't want them to think I'm a phoney, or a snob, or a–"

It was then that it happened. One moment, they were walking along the pavement in their own little world, the next, a young woman was rushing by on her way to the train station, accidentally bumping into Bucky, her cup of Starbucks coffee slopping out of her cup and onto Bucky's pristine white shirt. Steve watched it all, as if in slow motion, unable to stop the scene unfolding before him, watching as the coffee immediately formed a large brown stain down the front of Bucky's shirt.

The woman stared in horror at Bucky's shirt, immediately blabbering flustered apologies, pulling a packet of tissues out of her pocket and attempting to daub it away. It was, of course, fruitless. The damage was done, the coffee well and truly soaked into the white material.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, audibly distressed. "I'm so sorry! Oh damn. Sorry. Sorry. Here, take these tissues. Fuck, I wasn't looking where I was going. My train leaves in three minutes and, gosh, I'm so sorry..."

Bucky gave her a pained expression, before forcing himself to smile and wave his hand.

"It's fine," he said. "Go catch your train."

The young woman scuttled away, leaving Steve and Bucky to stare at his shirt in dismay.

"Now I look like an idiot..."

"Don't worry about it," Steve said hastily. "I keep some spare clothes at my parents' house."

"Your parents are just going to remember me as coffee-shirt guy!" wailed Bucky.

They quickly made their way to Steve's car, feeling a little less flustered once in the familiar confines of the vehicle. Here, at least, they were safe from any flying beverages. Steve set off towards his parents' house, trying to calm down Bucky as he drove.

"Don't stress," said Steve. "My parents won't mind. These things happen sometimes. They can't wait to meet you. Just be yourself, distract them with pie and flowers; they won't even think the stain is a big deal."

Bucky nodded meekly.

"At least my pie turned out well," said Bucky. "I baked it myself. Pumpkin pie, Barnes family secret recipe."

Pumpkin? For some reason, Steve had thought Bucky was bringing apple pie. Whoops... Steve bit his lip, wondering whether to voice his thoughts out loud. It was their own fault, he supposed; they had not talked beforehand about what exactly they were going to bring.

"You brought pumpkin pie?" said Steve, as casually as possible.

"Yeah," said Bucky, before seeming to notice something suspicious about Steve's expression. "Wait... _why?_ "

"I've brought pumpkin pie too," admitted Steve.

Bucky threw his hands into the air, letting out a strangled cry.

"This is turning into a disaster!"

Thankfully, Bucky did not have long to get himself too worked up, because a few minutes later, they were pulling into Steve's parents' driveway, the tidy little house coming into view, an autumnal garland hanging from the front door, decorative little pumpkins and pine cones festooning the porch. Before Bucky could start hyperventilating, Steve ushered him out of the car, giving him what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the back.

"Just relax," said Steve, giving him an encouraging smile. "They'll love you."

Bucky nodded mutely, looking slightly sick, following Steve up to the porch. Steve had barely raised his fist to knock, when the door was flung open, his parents peering at them with delight, before dragging them inside with squeaks of joy. His mother immediately pulled them both in for a tight hug, Steve and Bucky almost bumping heads as she squished them against her.

"Boys!" she said. "Oh, it's so nice to meet you, Bucky! I've been telling Steve to invite you over for months!"

She finally let them go, beaming at them both, fussing over them and smoothing out their hair. Bucky returned a slightly dazed smile, obviously not having expected quite such an enthusiastic welcome.

"It's an honour, Mrs. Rogers, thank you for inviting me," he said, before offering the bouquet of flowers, a small blush sweeping across his cheeks.

Rather than Steve's mother taking them, however, his father let out a noise of excitement, taking the flowers and admiring them joyfully.

"Yes, flowers!" he said, before looking at Bucky eagerly over his spectacles. "I love plants. Do you like gardening, Bucky? I've been working on developing a vegetable patch. I can show it to you later, if you like?"

"Uh, yeah! That sounds great, Mr. Rogers," said Bucky, a smile spreading over his face. "I've been growing some tomatoes in my apartment."

"Fascinating!" said Steve's father, before frowning. "Enough of this Mr. Rogers nonsense, though. It makes me sound like an old man. Please, call me Joe."

"Yes, and call me Sarah," chipped in his mother. "We want you to feel at home here, OK, honey? Oh! Is that pie?"

Bucky smiled, proudly presenting his homemade pumpkin pie.

"Made it myself, Sarah," he said. "Pumpkin pie, family recipe."

"Yeah... I brought pumpkin pie too," said Steve. "Good thing we like pumpkin, right?"

Steve's mother laughed, taking both the proffered pumpkin pies with a smile and taking them through to the kitchen.

"Perfect!" she said. "Pumpkin pie is a favourite in the Rogers household."

They all followed her through into the kitchen, where mountains of food were already being prepared for the Thanksgiving feast later, more autumnal garlands hanging from the walls.

"Did you get something on your shirt?" asked Steve's father, pointing at the coffee stain down Bucky's front.

Bucky blushed, looking down at it self-consciously, attempting to hide it by pulling his suit jacket closer around himself.

"Oh, yeah... This lady spilled her coffee on me."

"Steve, go and fetch Bucky some fresh clothes!" said Steve's mother. "Something warm and comfortable. We can't have our guest covered in coffee."

Steve smiled, leaning in to give her a kiss, thrilled at how well they seemed to have taken to Bucky.

"Yes, mom," he said, before heading upstairs, entering the guest room that had once been Steve's childhood bedroom.

Thankfully, he and Bucky were around the same height and build, meaning that he would easily be able to fit into the spare clothes that Steve kept here. He rummaged around in the drawers, pulling out a comfortable pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt patterned with tiny dinosaurs, and a warm crimson jumper. He laid them out on the bed, before listening, a smile spreading over his face when he heard the sound of laughter coming from downstairs. He gave them a few more minutes alone, wanting Bucky to have the opportunity to bond with them without Steve being there, before finally heading downstairs, re-entering the kitchen to find that Bucky's bouquet of flowers had been placed into a vase in pride of place in front of the window.

"I laid out some clothes in the bedroom upstairs," said Steve, sidling over and giving Bucky a kiss on the cheek. "Whenever you want to get changed."

Bucky nodded, quickly excusing himself to get out of his coffee-stained apparel. As soon as the sound of Bucky's footsteps had faded from earshot, Steve's mother gave a little squeak, wrapping her arms around Steve's neck tightly.

"Oh, he's a lovely boy!" she whispered. "I'm so glad you've finally found someone who makes you happy!"

His father nodded seriously in agreement.

"He's got an excellent taste in flowers," he said. "I think you can tell a lot about a person by the kind of plants they choose."

Steve smiled, tears suddenly forming in his eyes, his heart swelling with happiness. He had not realised, until that moment, just how much it meant to have his parents' approval for the man whom he loved. That they had accepted him so warmly and immediately into the family was truly a blessing. His mother finally let go of him, before ushering him into the lounge.

"Dad wants the kitchen to himself," she said. "You know how much of a Mr. Grumpy Pants he gets when we get in the way of his cooking."

"I heard that!" came a shout from the kitchen.

"Macy's?" she continued. "Does Bucky like watching the Macy's parade?"

"I sure do," said Bucky, grinning as he walked into the lounge, looking much happier and more relaxed in Steve's borrowed clothes. "These fit great. Thanks, Steve."

They spent the next few hours watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. Steve had always been a fan of watching the huge inflatable balloons making their way through New York City, along with the marching bands, live music and dancers. It was the ultimate party, something quintessentially American and light-hearted. Bucky revealed that when he was growing up, he and his sisters would go to the parade in person – a perk of growing up in New York City. Steve's mother was fascinated by this, asking Bucky about his family, his sisters, the quirky little Barnes family traditions.

Somewhere along the way, the conversation turned to baby pictures, and before Steve could do anything to stop it, his mother had unearthed a photo album of Steve as a child, showing Bucky what seemed to be the most embarrassing photos of him with unashamed glee.

"Here's Steve dressed up as a little bumble bee," she cooed. "He liked watching bees in the garden and wanted to join in!"

Bucky smirked, shooting Steve a grin when he blushed.

"Aww, you were so cute, Steve! Why are you getting embarrassed?"

His mother turned the page, revealing a picture of a two-year-old Steve sitting naked on the potty, looking extremely proud of himself.

"Oh, I remember this moment! Steve's first time going poo-poo in the potty. He used to be scared of the potty, you know? He needed Mommy to hold his hand until he got over his fear."

" _Mom!_ " whined Steve. "Is this necessary?"

Bucky cackled with delight, wiggling closer to Steve's mother on the sofa so as to get a better look of the embarrassing photos.

"Oh, I think this is _excellent_ ," smirked Bucky.

Steve was thankfully saved from any further humiliation by his father entering the room, proudly announcing that the Thanksgiving Day feast was ready. They headed to the dining room together, all of them gasping at the incredible sight before them. Steve's father had always been a good cook, but this year he had surpassed himself by a mile, a delicious spread covering the table: roast turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, corn, carrots, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and on their own little platters, Steve and Bucky's pumpkin pies. The rich, homely smell of cooking hit them as soon as they walked in, Steve's mouth instantly salivating.

"Wow, Joe," said Bucky, his eyes widening at the incredible spread of food covering the table. "This is amazing."

They took their seats around the table, a warm glow heating Steve from the inside to see the four of them together. His boyfriend and his parents – his family – together for Thanksgiving for the first time. He knew he would always treasure this moment.

"Let's each say something we're thankful for," said Steve's mother. "I'm thankful that my family are happy and healthy."

"I'm thankful for all this food we're about to eat," said Steve's father.

"I'm thankful to have such accepting people as my parents," said Steve.

All eyes turned to Bucky, who was looking pensively into the middle-distance. After a moment, he smiled, meeting Steve's gaze gently.

"I'm thankful that I met Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/630345722110279680/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> NEW YORK CITY PHOTOS: I have shared [these photos of New York City](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/629597334755590145/hot-summer-nights-locations-new-york-city) on my Tumblr, if you want to see what it looks like in real life :) I've never been to New York City before, so it was fun researching it!
> 
> TONY STARK EASTER EGG: I hope you enjoyed the little cameo from Tony Stark and Stark Tower in this chapter! In this alternative universe, he's a renewable energy technology guy rather than an Avenger.
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter, and for your kind messages of support on Tumblr and Discord. As I [announced on my Tumblr](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/629615606815244288/hey-everyone-if-my-life-is-a-story-then-the-last), the last few weeks have been quite difficult for me, health-wise. There's been pain, there's been blood, there's been appointments with doctors, and on Tuesday there will be surgery that will hopefully put an end to all this nonsense. Nothing life-threatening, so no need to worry, but any positive thoughts, comments or messages of support would be warmly welcomed <3
> 
> THOUGHTS: Aww, what a fluffy chapter! I hope you enjoyed all this lovey-dovey smushy romance <3 As always, please let me know your thoughts in the comments section below!
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see Steve and Bucky take their relationship to the next level...
> 
> TUMBLR: I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, if you want to keep up to date with all things related to this story, my ongoing health saga, and pretty Marvel-related things.


	19. New Beginnings

It was a month and a half after Thanksgiving, the new year shivering under a blanket of January snow, when Bucky dropped the bomb.

Steve was visiting him in New York City. They were snuggled together beneath Bucky's duvet, having just watched an action film on Netflix. Snow was falling silently outside the window, blanketing the street below in a carpet of white. It was Steve's final night before he was due to go back to Boston, the two of them relaxing in one another's arms, enjoying this one last night before they would have to say goodbye to one another in the morning. Steve had his face nestled in the crook of Bucky's neck. Bucky's fingers were tracing shapes absent-mindedly across Steve's skin. Steve was almost drifting off to sleep, that warm fuzziness creeping up on him, when Bucky spoke.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this."

Any spectre of tiredness immediately evaporated, horror exploding in Steve's gut at Bucky's words. Steve disentangled himself from Bucky's limbs, his stomach churning sickeningly as he searched Bucky's face for any expression of emotion. He was shocked, nauseated, terrified. He felt as though the ground had just been ripped out from under him. He did not understand. The last year with Bucky had been one of the happiest of Steve's life. Did Bucky not feel the same? Had Bucky got bored of him, or fed up with the distance, and decided that enough was enough? _I don't know if I can keep doing this..._ Bucky's words chilled him to the bone; horrifying, disturbing, frightening.

"Bucky," he said, unable to keep the tremble from his voice. "I don't understand..."

His bottom lip trembled. A tear slipped down his cheek, rolling its lonely way down his face. He stared at Bucky, grief needling at his heart as his mind whispered maliciously in his ear: _perhaps this will be the last time you see his face up close_. Bucky stared back at him, his face crumpling with confusion, before his eyes widened with horror.

"Oh, fuck! No, Steve, not like that!" said Bucky quickly, grabbing Steve's hands and pressing them against his chest. Like this, Steve could feel his heartbeat: _ba-doom, ba-doom, ba-doom_. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm not breaking up with you! Shit. I knew I'd do this all wrong..."

This time, it was Steve's turn to look confused. The horror subsided a little at Bucky's reassurance, bewilderment filling the void left behind. What the hell was Bucky talking about? What did he feel he could not do anymore, if he were not talking about their relationship?

"I don't understand," he repeated.

After a pause, Bucky sighed.

"I hate that you're leaving tomorrow," said Bucky softly. "I hate that we only get to spend a couple of days together at a time. I hate that tomorrow, we'll have to say goodbye for another month or two. Because I love spending time with you. Being with you is awesome. But I miss you when we can't see each other, and I just... I don't know how much more of it I can take."

Oh... Things were beginning to make sense, in a roundabout sort of way. Steve reached out and took Bucky's hand gently, rubbing a soothing thumb across his knuckles. If he were being honest with himself, he hated their goodbyes too. Spending time with Bucky was wonderful, but with Steve living in Boston and Bucky living in New York City, there was always a limit on that time, always another goodbye looming, always a ticking clock counting down the seconds before they had to return to their respective cities.

"So, what shall we do about it?" said Steve gently.

Bucky nibbled on his lower lip, looking at Steve almost shyly through his eyelashes, his usual bravado melting away to reveal him looking surprisingly vulnerable. Steve lifted Bucky's hand to his lips, planting a gentle kiss there, grounding him, reminding him just how much he was loved.

"I was wondering..." said Bucky. "I mean, obviously only if you want to... And there's no rush, if you're not ready! But I guess... I guess... I was wondering how you might feel about us moving in together?"

Steve's heart beat a little faster at Bucky's words. Slowly, a smile spread over his face, warmth blossoming in his chest. Suddenly, he was taken by the urge to embrace Bucky, so he did, lovingly and wholeheartedly, smiling at Bucky's small noise of surprise. He placed a kiss on the shell of Bucky's ear, his heart singing, joy thrumming through his veins as Bucky's words sank in.

"I'd... I'd really love that," said Steve. "I'd been thinking about it, too."

Bucky pulled back slightly, so as to get a proper look at Steve's face, a hopeful, almost incredulous, smile lighting up his features.

"Yeah?" said Bucky, sounding a little breathless. "Like, I don't want you to feel you're being pressured into anything, or like we're moving too fast, or–"

"Bucky," smiled Steve, cutting him off with a kiss to his lips. "Yes. Yes, I want us to move in together. I love you. One million percent, yes!"

Bucky let out what could only be described as a squawk of delight, somehow managing to do some kind of ridiculous celebratory dance whilst trapped beneath the covers. Steve snorted with laughter. He loved Bucky's dorky side. It was, as Bucky would say, "adorkable".

"Do you want to live in New York or Boston?" asked Bucky. "Or anywhere, I guess."

Steve trailed his fingers absent-mindedly through Bucky's chest hair, following the swells and dips of muscle, the shapes he had got to know so perfectly, so intimately, since they had first met a year and a half before in Thornton-le-Dale.

"I think that's a decision we'll have to think about properly," said Steve eventually. "Weigh up the pros and cons. I think it's important to come to the right decision, rather than rushing."

Bucky smiled and nodded.

"Sounds good," he said.

* * *

They decided that Bucky should move to Boston.

It was an easy decision, in the end. Whilst Stanlee Publishers only had one office in Boston, Bucky's employer had offices in all major US cities. Not only that, but whilst all of Steve's family were concentrated in the Boston area, the Barnes family were much more geographically dispersed, with Bucky's sisters being scattered as far and wide as California and Texas. In short, there was a lot more tethering Steve to Boston than there was tying Bucky to New York City. It did not hurt that Bucky had fallen utterly in love with Boston during his trips to visit Steve. It was much smaller, calmer and cleaner than New York City, in Bucky's own words; beautiful, vibrant and homely.

Choosing their desired city was the easy part. It was only when they began house hunting that Steve remembered just how much he _hated_ it. House hunting was the worst. It was stressful, inconvenient, and an all-round pain in the ass. It was complicated further by the fact Bucky was still currently living in New York City, meaning they had to squeeze as many viewings as possible into the few days Bucky would visit at a time – a chaotic whirlwind of apartments and houses.

Their search for a home was an adventurous one.

Particularly memorable was one house which Steve and Bucky went on to (only half-jokingly) nickname the Murder House. The pictures on the letting agent's website were beautiful: a gorgeous house in a nice neighbourhood – and suspiciously low rent. The viewing began as normal, with the agent showing them around the rooms, all marketing jargon and bright smiles, until Bucky paused, pointing out something that Steve had not noticed when they had entered the house.

"What's with all the locks?" said Bucky.

The letting agent's smile faltered, licking her lips nervously as they all turned to stare at the six heavy-duty locks adorning the front door.

"Oh, the previous owner was just very security conscious," said the letting agent. "No need to worry! The neighbourhood is very safe."

Bucky hummed, exchanging a dubious glance with Steve but nevertheless letting it drop as they continued their tour of the house. It was Steve who noticed the second strange thing. They were in the dining room, admiring the ornate wooden furniture, when Steve spotted something dark red peeking out from under the rug. He nudged the rug slightly to the left, revealing a portion of the carpet that was stained by some dark liquid.

"Just a wine stain!" said the letting agent, somewhat manically, quickly moving the rug back to its original position. "The previous owner loved red wine!"

"Are you sure?!" said Steve.

It was the cellar, however, that put the Murder House firmly on Steve and Bucky's "no" list, and that earned the dwelling its sinister nickname. The letting agent had finally finished giving them a tour of the house, when Bucky pointed out a door in the kitchen that they had not been shown through.

"What's through there?" asked Bucky.

They all turned to stare at the cellar door. The letting agent's smile dimmed a few notches.

"Oh, it's just a cellar... Not very interesting."

Something about the letting agent's nervous demeanour made Steve and Bucky exchange uneasy glances.

"Can we have a look?" said Steve.

The letting agent glanced at the cellar door anxiously, a faint sheen of sweat appearing on her forehead.

"Well, uh, there's not really anything to see down there..." she began.

"Please?" smiled Bucky, his tone friendly but firm. "We'd really _love_ to see it."

For a moment, the letting agent simply stared at them in horror, before nodding weakly, walking them towards the cellar door. Her hand was trembling as she grasped the handle, before she pulled it open, revealing a set of steps leading down into a dark, gloomy basement. She flicked a switch, turning on a dim light. Steve and Bucky walked down into the space, immediately shivering at the shift in ambience. The cellar had a creepy, claustrophobic feeling, like something out of a horror film where kidnapped people ended up locked in some psychopath's basement. It was empty, just a creepy space beneath the house. They turned to head back up the stairs to the kitchen, when Bucky let out a shout of shock.

"What the hell is _that_?!"

Steve immediately stopped dead. Engraved in the wooden cellar door were deep scratches that looked horrifyingly as if they had been made by human fingernails. Not only that, but another large red stain adorned the bottom of the door, gruesome and blood-like.

Hence, Murder House.

Hence, the property being put firmly in their rejection pile.

Another house that stood out as being particularly memorable was one that they nicknamed the Rat House. The Rat House was actually an apartment, not too far away from where Steve lived currently. On paper, it seemed like an excellent fit: a decent size for two people, reasonable rent, and close to the nearest subway station and other transport links. Steve and Bucky went there feeling hopeful, chatting amicably with the letting agent, who was a friendly young man with an impressive afro. It was the young man's first day on the job, with Steve and Bucky being his first clients, something he was both nervous and excited about. They congratulated him on his new job, waiting patiently as he fumbled eagerly to get the keys into the lock.

"Here we are!" the letting agent said enthusiastically, pulling out a sheet of paper with various notes scribbled down on it as they entered the flat. "This apartment has been on the market for a while, apparently. Not sure why because it's in a great location, with modern appliances, and very energy efficient!"

He showed them through to the kitchen where, as promised, there were shiny new appliances and countertops, very sleek and modern. Steve and Bucky looked around, humming with approval. It seemed like a clean, beautiful kitchen, all white and chrome with straight, smooth lines.

"This looks awesome," said Bucky, looking around eagerly.

It was then that Steve heard a strange scuttling noise from behind them. He turned around in surprise, only to find the place empty apart from the three of them. He frowned. Curious... Perhaps, he had imagined it. Pushing the uneasy feeling aside, he smiled, returning to looking around the kitchen. The tour continued, the letting agent leading them from the kitchen into the lounge.

He was pointing out the beautiful furniture when Steve heard the noise again, that strange scuttling sound, much closer this time. He whirled around with a gasp, causing Bucky and the letting agent to stare at him in surprise. Nothing there. Again. And yet, now, Steve knew that something _was_ there, something with claws that clattered noisily on the wooden floors.

"What was that?" said Steve.

Bucky and the letting agent looked around in confusion.

"What was what?" said Bucky.

"Everyone be quiet," whispered Steve. "I heard something..."

They all fell silent, listening intently. For several long minutes, there was nothing, just the ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint sound of cars trundling along the street below. Steve was starting to question if he had heard the noise at all, when suddenly, it happened again, claws scuttling in the next room.

"What the hell?!" said Bucky, sounding as alarmed as Steve felt. "What's in the next room?"

The letting agent glanced nervously down at the floor plan, his eyes wide and anxious.

"The master bedroom," he said, before attempting to smile, putting on a brave face. "I'm sure everything's fine, let's check it out."

Unfortunately for the poor young letting agent, his credibility was damaged by a discernible tremble in his voice, as well as the fact that just then, a loud munching sound came from the wall between the lounge and the master bedroom. The three of them stared at the wall in horror, just as the scuttling noise happened once more in the master bedroom next door.

"You said this apartment's been on the market for a while..." said Bucky, frowning slightly. "Did your employers say why?"

The young man shook his head, now looking downright terrified as he led them out into the hallway, before putting a trembling hand on the door of the master bedroom.

"I'm sure everything's fine," he said, more to himself than to Steve and Bucky, before wrenching open the door, revealing the room within.

What happened next would be seared into Steve's memory forever. He did not know who was more shocked, the three humans standing in the hallway or the family of a dozen or so rats camped out in the master bedroom. At the letting agent's piercing scream of terror, they immediately scattered in all directions, some of them bolting into the hole in the wall where they had heard the munching sound before, some of them darting between their legs and sprinting into other rooms, their little feet clattering noisily on the wooden floors.

Steve, Bucky and the letting agent fled the rat-infested apartment as fast as they could move, the poor letting agent apologising profusely between hysterical sobs. It took twenty minutes, plenty of reassurance from Steve and Bucky, and a hot chocolate bought from a cafe nearby, but eventually the letting agent calmed down sufficiently that Steve and Bucky did not feel guilty about leaving him.

Needless to say, the Rat House joined the Murder House firmly on the rejection pile.

Steve was beginning to lose hope, when they decided to visit a last-minute property that had appeared on the letting website only the day before. Its website listing was not particularly inspiring; there were no photos, just a few lines of text that described it as a detached bungalow in need of plenty of care and restoration.

They almost did not go to view it, only deciding to do so out of an increasing sense of desperation and the realisation it was fairly near to Steve's parents' house, meaning they could pop in to visit them once the house viewing was over.

They arrived at the house in the late afternoon, exhausted after having viewed seven houses already earlier in the day, parking the car on the street outside. They stepped out onto the pavement, taking in their surroundings. The house was in a nice neighbourhood, quiet and safe, with plenty of greenery around them. The house itself was a quaint bungalow, in need of a good lick of paint and some new windows fitting. It had obviously been a beautiful house at one point, before becoming a little run down and dilapidated from lack of care. In the front garden was a beautiful apple tree, and Steve found himself smiling, immediately warming to the quirky little home, despite its slightly haggard appearance.

The letting agent was already waiting for them at the front door, smiling as they walked up the drive towards her. She shook their hands, introducing herself as Helen Cho. Helen had a soft, gentle voice – the kind that put one immediately at ease in her presence – and a warm smile that lit up her delicate features.

"This house needs a little care," she said, "but I think with some renovation, it could be a really beautiful home. It's also part of our new rent-to-buy scheme, which means you can start renting it, but later if you want to buy it, the rent already paid gets taken off the cost of the house."

Steve and Bucky exchanged looks of pleasant surprise. Helen unlocked the front door, leading the way inside, taking them into a little hallway. The wallpaper was hideous, a garish design that looked as though it was from the 1960s, now faded and beginning to peel from the walls. The carpet was similarly drab, an uninspiring brown colour that made Steve think of dog poop. Tactfully not mentioning the rather gross-looking hallway, Helen led them through to the lounge, revealing a surprisingly spacious room, although one that smelt strongly of dust.

"This is the living room," said Helen. "It's a good amount of floor space. I think with a bit of love, this could be transformed into a very nice place to relax."

Steve tried to ignore the moth-eaten curtains and threadbare carpet. Those things were superficial; easily removed and replaced with something nicer. The room itself, like Helen said, was a good size, with large windows that let the sunshine stream in, bathing them all in a wonderful golden glow.

Helen let them look around the room, before leading them through to the kitchen, which again looked as though it had last been renovated in the 1960s. The appliances were ancient, the linoleum floor brittle and crackling underfoot. The room itself, however, again was a decent size, and Steve could imagine that with a revamp it would be a lovely place to cook and eat.

The master bedroom (this one thankfully free of rats) was similarly promising in terms of size, with an en-suite bathroom that had seen better days but could nevertheless be nurtured back into something more homely. The second bedroom was a little smaller, but still perfectly liveable in.

It was the office, though, that really captured Steve's imagination. It was perhaps the best-maintained room in the house, with beautiful, solid mahogany shelves running along the walls from floor to ceiling. Steve could immediately imagine it as a reading room, books covering all the shelves, maybe a cosy little sofa in the middle to curl up on and get lost in all kinds of fictional worlds. His heart yearned for it, already imagining living there.

"That's the house," said Helen. "Would you like to see the back garden?"

Steve and Bucky nodded for her to lead the way, following her out into the back garden. It had grown a little wild, the grass overgrown to waist height and full of weeds. Nevertheless, Steve could imagine that once the lawn had been tamed, it could be transformed into a fun little space to host barbecues and dinner parties. Just then, a gentle gust of wind drew his attention to the bottom of the garden, his gaze zeroing in on a shrub of white roses swaying gently in the breeze. The flowers instantly took him back to Thornton-le-Dale. He suddenly remembered, vividly, the time he had almost tripped over Bucky as he lay at the bottom of the garden at Buttercup Cottage, sprawled out on the grass amongst the roses. It had been the first time they had had a proper conversation.

Bucky seemed to be having the same thoughts, murmuring softly beside him: "White roses. The symbol of Yorkshire..."

Helen smiled, not understanding the reference but obviously able to tell that it held some important meaning to Steve and Bucky.

"What do you think?" said Steve, turning to look at the outside of the house from the back.

It looked as tired and in need of care as it did from the front, but the vast majority of the changes needed were superficial. The building itself was strong, solid and welcoming. It had a warm, homely vibe, even in this run-down state. The drab wallpaper, carpets and old appliances could be ripped out and replaced. With some love, Steve could sense that the house had a lot of love to give back, providing warmth, safety and shelter. With a bit of care and attention, they could nurture this house back into a home.

"It'll take a lot of work to make it nice," said Bucky. "But... I kind of love it. Is that weird? I don't know why, but it just feels like home."

Steve smiled, slipping his hand into Bucky's.

"Our home?" he said.

Bucky chuckled beside him, appraising the quirky, run-down bungalow, before planting a gentle kiss to Steve's cheek.

"Yes, I think it is."

* * *

They moved in one month later.

It was a hectic day involving multiple delivery vans, more cardboard boxes than Steve had ever thought possible, and one very helpful extra pair of hands in the form of Natasha, who seemed to have taken it upon herself to be their primary cheerleader and enabler. It took many gruelling hours, but by the end of the day, all of Steve and Bucky's possessions had been moved into the house, roughly into the appropriate room. They were aching, they were exhausted, but they were _home_ , and that was exhilarating.

Presently, they were in their new bedroom, surrounded by a mountain of boxes as they began to unpack some of their clothes. Steve pulled out his selection of t-shirts, one of them falling out of the side of the box and landing on the floor. He picked it up, shaking it out, suddenly becoming very still when he recognised it.

It was, technically, not his t-shirt.

It was Bucky's black AC/DC t-shirt, which Steve had packed accidentally in Thornton-le-Dale and then been unable to throw away when he had discovered it upon unpacking in Boston.

He remembered the raw pain he had felt, then, his heart freshly broken after Bucky had not turned up to meet him at Harker's Point. He remembered bringing it to his face, and breathing in the scent of him, and then shoving it away to the back of his wardrobe, unable to look at it but unable to dispose of it even more. He had thought, then, that he would never see Bucky again. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined that they might one day be moving in together.

He stared at the t-shirt for a long moment, before handing it to Bucky, his heart aching with a painful kind of joy – relief, happiness and a bittersweet sense of nostalgia all exploding within him.

"This belongs to you," said Steve. "I packed it accidentally. Brought it home from Thornton-le-Dale."

Bucky stared at it, an incredulous expression on his face, before taking it, shaking it out and gazing first at it, and then Steve.

"You kept it?" said Bucky.

Steve smiled, a happy and sad little thing, and laid his hand briefly on Bucky's own.

"How could I possibly throw it away?" he said.

Bucky bit his lip, before closing the distance between them, embracing Steve in a tight hug. They embraced for a long while, neither of them quite able to fathom why they had become quite so emotional about a t-shirt. It was just fabric, after all – but in another way, it was so much more than that. It was the first time they had fallen in love. It was Steve's heartbreak after thinking Bucky did not love him. It was the beginning of Bucky's gruelling search for Steve, with nothing more than a first name, a job title and an accent.

After a while, they drew apart. Bucky walked over to their wardrobe, put the t-shirt onto a hanger and slid it onto the rail. Steve stared at it – their clothes, all intermixed together, such a stunning visual – and that was when it hit him, beautifully and viscerally.

This was really happening.

This was their new home.

A new stage in their lives, together.

A new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/630981041121886208/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you for your lovely feedback (and kind words regarding my surgery) on the last chapter. It was really heart-warming and touching to receive such love - so thank you! The surgery ended up not going ahead as planned due to some inflammation which could cause complications. It's not cancelled, just postponed, but the pain is much better now so I'm happy to wait. Thank you for your best wishes; I'll hold them close whenever the surgery ends up happening!
> 
> HELEN CHO CAMEO: Did anyone recognise Helen Cho in this chapter? She is the doctor who appears in the film Avengers: Age of Ultron! Well done if you recognised her, and I hope you enjoyed her little cameo in this chapter :)
> 
> THOUGHTS: Squee, Steve and Bucky have moved in together! A few of you correctly predicted that this might happen in the comments section of the last chapter, so well done if you got that right! As always, please feel free to let me know your thoughts, feelings and squealings in the comments section below. I love it when you guys share your excitement <3
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see Steve and Bucky settling into their new home - and the introduction of a new character... Clues: male, black hair, green eyes - any guesses? ;)
> 
> TUMBLR: I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, if you want to say hi over there!


	20. Home Is Where The Heart Is

As the old saying goes, home is where the heart is – and Steve and Bucky poured their hearts into transforming their run-down house into a real home.

They went methodically, room by room, improving what they could and replacing what was simply too dilapidated to be saved. It was an exhausting but exhilarating process, almost like watching their home come to life in front of their very eyes, shedding its old cloak of cobwebs and neglect and donning a new apparel: something alive, something cosy, something loved.

Steve's favourite room to renovate was, by far, the reading room. The walls of this room were already lined with bookshelves, beautiful mahogany wood that went from floor to ceiling. They removed the grotty old carpet, replacing it with a soft cream carpet and a beautiful cosy rug. They bought a squishy sofa to go in the centre of the room, covering it with comfortable cushions and blankets. They painted the walls a warm mossy green, both calming and intimate and giving the place a very soothing ambience. By the time they filled the shelves with their (mainly Steve's) collection of books, it had been transformed into a gorgeous grotto of cosiness: warm, snug, homely and relaxing. The finishing touch was a string of fairy lights that trailed along the top shelf, inspired by the ones that had lit up the patio of Buttercup Cottage so beautifully on those evenings spent eating food and drinking wine with Jemma and Leo under the stars.

Other rooms were less cutesy and more practical – but nonetheless satisfying to renovate. The old, mouldy bathroom got ripped out and a new one put in that was much cleaner, brighter and more pleasant. The kitchen was completely re-done – the ancient appliances replaced with more modern ones, the old cracked linoleum floor removed and replaced with new wooden floorboards. In the hallway, the hideous poop-brown carpet and peeling, grubby 1960s wallpaper was stripped out, being replaced by calm cream paint and a chic grey carpet.

Slowly, the dilapidated house became their home. The rooms became their rooms. Their photographs and art went up on the walls. They made memories there.

And, each time a room finished its renovation, they would christen it in their own special way – making love on the floor, or bent over the new sofa, or up against the wall – filling it with love and passion.

* * *

It was a couple of weeks after they finished renovating the final room, that Bucky put forward his idea.

It was a Friday evening and they had just finished a delicious dinner of homemade lasagne and salad. Presently, they were chilling out together in the lounge, Steve doodling in his sketchbook, Bucky reading a romance novel that had recently been published by Stanlee Publishers. Steve loved evenings like these: peaceful, relaxing, both of them doing their own thing, yet quietly enjoying one another's company. The scratch of pencil against paper and the rustle of pages turning were their soundtrack, the final tendrils of the sun's rays fading from view outside as the sun slipped below the horizon. Steve was just about to crack open his case of coloured pencils, when Bucky spoke.

"Do you remember that cat?" said Bucky, closing his book and putting it aside. "The one that we played with at Buttercup Cottage?"

Steve cocked his head to the side, smiling after a moment when he remembered the cat Bucky was referring to. It had been a beautiful ginger tom cat, pouncing playfully about the flowers as Steve and Bucky relaxed in the back garden of Buttercup Cottage. It had been towards the end of their holiday, both of them too tired to do much more than laze around the cottage after their busy time exploring York the day before. He remembered the way the cat had tried to hunt Bucky's shoelaces, chuckling at the memory.

"That was a cute cat," he said. "What was its name? Duck?"

"Goose, I think," said Bucky, his face glazing over with a soft smile as he reminisced. "Stupid name for a cat."

"You sure?" Steve snorted with amusement. "I just seem to remember you gushing about what a good kitty he was."

"He _was_ a good kitty!" Bucky said adamantly. "Doesn't mean his owners didn't give him a stupid name."

Steve smiled.

"What made you think of Goose?" he said.

"Oh, I saw a ginger cat on my way home from work today," said Bucky. "Real friendly. Let me give him belly rubs. Reminded me of Goose."

Steve remembered how soft Goose's belly had been, how loudly he had purred when Steve and Bucky had fussed over him. Bucky was right; Goose had been a very adorable cat.

"Steve..." said Bucky, suddenly gazing at him with surprising intensity.

Steve raised his eyebrows, setting aside his pencil and sketchbook to give Bucky his full attention. Bucky was acting, for lack of a better description, really fucking weird. His fingers were twisting anxiously in his lap, his eyes laser focused on Steve's face, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He looked nervous, something that had Steve frowning with concern.

"What's up?" said Steve.

Bucky paused for a moment, as if pondering how best to phrase it.

"We've finished renovating the house," he said finally.

Steve blinked. Of all the things he had expected Bucky to say, it had not been that.

"Yeah," he said.

"So, what I'm saying is... the house is nice now," continued Bucky. "No dodgy nails sticking out of the floor. No mould that could damage anyone's breathing. No draughts or leaky bits. It's a nice, safe home."

He stared at Steve meaningfully, as if he were making some important point that he expected Steve to understand. Far from clarifying Bucky's point, however, each passing word was plunging Steve into an ever-growing state of confusion. Was he being stupid, or was Bucky making zero sense? Yes, the house had been renovated – so what? _What was Bucky talking about?_

"Yeah..." said Steve.

"And we've got plenty of room," said Bucky. "We're not cramped for space. It's a nice, big house for the two of us."

OK, _what?_ Steve paused for a moment, trying to remember if he had missed some key part of the last few minutes. Had he zoned out earlier, when Bucky had been talking? No, he decided, he had not. Which meant, unfortunately, that Bucky really was making about as much sense as a chocolate thermometer.

"Yeah..." said Steve, trying one last time to figure it out, before giving up with an apologetic grimace. "Bucky... I'm really sorry, but I don't really follow what you're talking about."

Bucky huffed a little smile, running a hand through his hair as he finally forced himself to get to the point.

"I was wondering... how would you feel about adopting a cat?" said Bucky. "Now that the house is nice and safe and everything. We've got the space; we've got a lot of love to give – I was thinking it'd be nice to share it with a cat buddy."

Steve let Bucky's words sink in, a smile slowly spreading over his face as they did so. Oh, how thoughtful, how kind, how quintessentially _Bucky_ it was for him to wait until the house was fully renovated, in tip-top condition, made perfect for a new arrival, before even considering bringing a cat into their home. He had waited until the place was ready, wanting the cat to know nothing but comfort and safety. It was beautiful. It was heart-warming.

He imagined it, sharing their home with a feline companion, having a new member of the family to love and cherish. His heart swelled at the mere thought of it, a longing that he had not even realised existed making itself known by tugging on his heart strings. He would love to adopt a cat. He would love to expand his and Bucky's little family. He would love to share their newly renovated home with a four-legged friend. He crossed the room to wrap Bucky up in a tight hug, unable to stop smiling.

"Fuck yes," said Steve.

* * *

Over the course of the next week, they decided it was important for them to adopt from a rescue shelter, rather than buy from a breeder. There was no need to support the breeding of cats, they reasoned, when there were thousands of rescue cats already living in overcrowded shelters. To adopt a shelter cat felt like the morally responsible thing to do. They had just begun researching local animal shelters, drawing up a list of addresses to visit, when Bucky found one in particular that drew his attention.

"Hey Steve, come look at this," he said.

Steve crossed the room, peering over Bucky's shoulder to look at the laptop screen. Bucky had found the website of a small family-run cat rescue centre on the other side of Boston. Its name was written in chic, simple lettering: Black Panther Cat Rescue Center.

"Panthers?" said Steve, confused.

He had thought they wanted to adopt a cat.

Bucky chuckled at him good-naturedly.

"Don't worry, they're not real panthers," he said. "It's just the name of the shelter. They specialise in rescuing and rehoming black cats. I think we should check them out."

"Does the colour of the cat really matter?" said Steve.

It seemed quite superficial, if he were being honest, to choose a cat based on its colour alone. There were far more important things to consider when choosing a pet: their temperament and personality, first and foremost.

"It shouldn't matter," sighed Bucky. "But sadly, it does. Black cats have a hard time finding a home. They're usually the last to be adopted – and the first to be euthanised if a shelter's running out of space."

Steve balked in horror. It was incomprehensible, to him, that people could be so cruel as to pass over a black cat just because of its colouring.

"But why?" he said, aghast. "Black cats are beautiful."

Bucky scrunched his nose in obvious distaste.

"Some superstitious idiots think they're bad luck," he said. "And some social media-obsessed douchebags think they're not as _photogenic_ as other cats – as if that fucking matters. It sucks, but there's enough people like that out there that black cats struggle to find a home. So, I think we should definitely check this place out."

"For sure," smiled Steve. "I love black cats."

They drove to Black Panther Cat Rescue Center the very next day. The journey was a minor adventure involving a misbehaving sat-nav and temporarily getting trapped in a one-way system, but eventually they found themselves in the right place, walking across a small car park towards the shelter. A sign with the words _Black Panther Cat Rescue Center_ adorned the side of the building, along with the tagline: _Helping black cats find a forever home!_

Steve smiled, his heart suddenly aflutter at the prospect of meeting the rescue cats, one of whom might well end up becoming a new member of their family. He wondered if this was how new parents felt when they learnt they were expecting a child, and then wondered if it was weird that he was already thinking of this hypothetical cat as if it were his very own baby. Could the term "crazy cat lady" apply to men, as well? Fuck it, of course it could: he was a proud crazy cat man.

They entered through the doors, walking up to a handsome black man wearing an interesting silver chain around his neck who was manning the reception desk. The man smiled warmly when he saw them approach, greeting them with a handshake as they drew level.

"Welcome to Black Panther Cat Rescue Center," he said. "My name is T'Challa. How can I help you today?"

"We'd like to meet the cats," said Steve, suddenly flushed with excitement. "We're thinking of adopting a pet."

T'Challa's smile grew into a bright grin, immediately nodding and emerging from behind the reception desk, grabbing a set of keys from the side. He gestured for them to follow as he led them through a door that took them to the back of the shelter. They followed him, entering a large room containing row upon row of spacious, well-furnished cages, each one containing a beautiful black cat in a variety of poses: sleeping, playing with a toy, or nibbling daintily at their food. Attached to each cage was a piece of paper with the cat's name, as well as information such as their age, sex, health and personality. Bucky's hand reached out to grab Steve's tightly, and Steve could tell that Bucky was just as excited by this as he was.

"Have a look around," smiled T'Challa. "Take your time. If there are any cats in particular that you'd like to stroke or touch, let me know and I'll get them out for you."

They thanked him, wandering over to the closest cages to say hello to the cats therein. They were beautiful – sleek black fur and bright green eyes. One of the cats was being particularly affectionate, chirping at them and rubbing herself against the cage as if she wanted to rub against them. Steve poked his finger through the mesh of her cage, laughing when she began licking his finger.

"Hey, gorgeous girl," he said. "What's your name?"

Bucky squinted at the piece of paper on the cat's cage, reading her name.

"Maisie," he said. "Hey, Maisie!"

Maisie meowed at them happily, flopping over onto her side to reveal her fluffy belly. Steve and Bucky cooed at her in delight, already falling in love with the friendly little girl.

"Oh, did you say Maisie?" said T'Challa apologetically. "Sorry, she's been reserved. We're just doing some checks on the prospective owner, and then she's due to be adopted on Friday. That should have been on her paper, sorry."

Steve smiled sadly at Maisie, blowing her a little kiss before waving her goodbye.

"No worries," he said to T'Challa. "The main thing is that she's going to a good home."

They moved on, going slowly around the room, greeting the cats, stopping at the ones who seemed to be particularly friendly or interested in Steve and Bucky. They asked T'Challa if they could stroke and play with several who seemed especially keen to interact with them: an old gentleman called Herbert who promptly fell asleep in Bucky's lap, a sprightly young kitten called Whizzy who spent a solid twenty minutes entertaining them by playing with a toy mouse, and a cute one-eyed cat called Spartacus who delighted in giving Steve and Bucky head bonks.

They had met almost all the cats, when Steve noticed one cage that had been placed away from the others. He pointed it out to Bucky, and together they made their way over to it, peering inside to see a young male cat staring intently back at them. The cat had black fur, green eyes and – perhaps unfortunately for the poor feline – the most impressive resting bitch face Steve had ever seen on an animal. Even ignoring his grumpy expression, he was not a conventionally attractive cat. In fact, in all honesty, the poor thing was frankly ugly, with several crooked teeth, a missing ear, and several large scars that slashed across his face. Steve looked at the piece of paper on his cage, finding the cat's name: Loki.

"How come Loki's cage is set apart from the others?" said Steve.

T'Challa joined them outside the cage, squatting down to smile at the grumpy cat.

"Loki doesn't get along with other cats," explained T'Challa. "He tries to attack them through the gaps in the cage if he's too near to them. It's less stressful for all the cats, including him, if he has his own space."

Bucky chuckled softly, leaning closer to the cage to get a better look at Loki.

"So, you're a grumpy little fella, huh?" he said. "I get it. Sometimes I can't be bothered playing nice with others, either."

"Loki has been here longer than any other cat," said T'Challa, his tone sad and wistful. "You're actually the first people who've even given him a second glance."

Steve and Bucky exchanged looks of surprise.

"How come no one wants him?" asked Steve.

T'Challa sighed, giving them a tired smile.

"How much time do you have?" he said. "He's shy. He doesn't get on with other cats. He has facial disfigurements. He's FIV+, which is like HIV in humans, which means he's at higher risk of getting seriously ill if he catches something. We think his previous owner abused him, gave him those scars – so he has trust issues too. He's skittish. He's not a very affectionate cat."

Steve's heart ached with sympathy. He peered into the cage, making soft kissing noises as Loki stared back at him. Poor Loki, overlooked for months through no fault of his own, because of his health, unfortunate looks and shy temperament. Suddenly, Steve was taken by the overwhelming urge to help him, to show him that humans were capable of gentleness and not just cruelty, to give him the love and warmth that he deserved.

"Can we say hello to him?" said Steve. "Like, stroke him?"

T'Challa stared at him with barely concealed amazement, before nodding, smiling with disbelief as he unlocked the front of Loki's cage.

"Let him come to you," said T'Challa. "No sudden movements. He's scared of new people, so he might not even come out of his cage... Oh..."

They all watched in astonishment as Loki padded cautiously out of his cage and walked slowly up to Steve and Bucky. He gave them both a long, careful sniff, before, incredibly, beginning to purr, flopping down on the floor between them and stretching out so that his back was resting against Steve's leg and his legs were pressed against Bucky's. The three of them stared at him, Steve's heart soaring with joy when Loki gave his leg the tiniest of head bonks.

"What the..." whispered T'Challa. "OK, so... He's literally never done that before. This is..." He broke off, tears suddenly glistening in his eyes. "This is special. Sometimes, the cat chooses the human."

Wordlessly, barely daring to breathe too loud lest he break the spell, Steve slowly offered Loki his finger, letting him sniff if for several minutes, making no move to touch him, simply letting him get accustomed to Steve's smell and the size of his hand. Finally, Loki gave his finger a tiny lick, laying his head back on the floor, seemingly relaxed. Slowly, carefully, not making any sudden movements so as not to scare him, Steve put his hand softly on Loki's head, simply resting it there for several minutes before very gently beginning to stroke him. Loki stiffened momentarily, before relaxing once more, his little body soon vibrating under Steve's hand, his purrs rumbling through him as Steve petted him.

They stayed like this for twenty precious minutes, not going any further, allowing Loki to get fully used to the sensation of being stroked by Steve, before Bucky repeated the ritual, first offering his finger to sniff, only going on to stroke him when Loki was sufficiently happy and relaxed. T'Challa watched, astonished, barely able to believe that this tricky cat who had been so difficult to rehome was now lying purring on the floor between these two burly men, the picture of happiness.

It came as a surprise to absolutely no one when Steve and Bucky announced their desire to adopt Loki.

T'Challa rushed to fetch the adoption papers.

* * *

Steve and Bucky were not able to take Loki home straight away. Black Panther Cat Rescue Center took the welfare of its animals extremely seriously, meaning that before they would release Loki into their care, they first needed to run some background checks on Steve and Bucky and complete an inspection of their home to make sure it was safe for the cat.

It was an agonising wait, but one week later, both checks had been carried out, and Steve and Bucky finally received the call inviting them back to the shelter to collect Loki.

The drive back home was a thrilling one. Loki was huddled in a cat carrier in the back seat, along with a mountain of cat supplies that they had bought from the shelter: cat food, a litter box and cat litter, Loki's favourite toys, a scratching post and a cat bed. They restrained their excitement, however, keeping their voices calm and quiet so as not to spook Loki any further. It must be frightening for him, they realised, to be in a strange car, with new people, away from the familiarity of the shelter that had been his home for the last however many months.

Steve made sure to drive smoothly and carefully, and finally, they arrived home, both of them peering at the black mass hiding at the back of the cat carrier as soon as the car engine was switched off.

"Hey, buddy," Bucky said gently. "We're home. Ready to check out your sweet new pad?"

Loki meowed plaintively in response, apparently not the greatest fan of car rides.

With that in mind, they quickly exited the car, Bucky clutching the cat carrier, Steve carrying the cat supplies. They entered the house, making sure to close the front door behind them, before taking the cat carrier through to the lounge and setting it down on the floor. They opened the front of the carrier slowly, giving Loki the freedom to step out into his new home. This was the moment they had been waiting for. They sat there for several long moments, taut with excitement, thrilled at the prospect of Loki – _their cat!_ – finally stepping out and exploring his surroundings.

Loki did not budge.

They waited several more minutes, before Steve peered inside, seeing Loki huddled anxiously at the back of the carrier. Steve gave him what he hoped was an encouraging smile, making little kissing noises with his lips.

"It's OK, Loki," he said gently. "You're safe here. This is your home now."

Loki simply meowed shakily in response, making no move to step out of his carrier.

"T'Challa said it might take a while for him to get comfortable enough to come out," said Bucky. "Let's give him some space. He'll come out when he's ready."

In the meantime, they busied themselves with sorting out the rest of the cat paraphernalia, setting up the litter tray and scratching post, and putting the cat bed in a nice quiet corner of the room. They left a bowl of food and some water just outside the cat carrier, so that Loki could eat and drink without having to leave the safety of his enclosed little space. After a brainwave, they put his toys in sight of the carrier, in case they might help entice him to come out.

It did not work.

Nightfall came, and Loki was still no closer to exiting his carrier. Steve crouched down to have another look at him, finding him sleeping peacefully, curled up on his blanket. He got back to his feet, giving Bucky a little shrug and a smile.

"He's sleeping," he said. "He's had some of his food and water, so he's OK. I guess it's just a bit overwhelming for the little guy to be in a whole new house."

Bucky nodded, crouching down to have another look at him, before straightening with a smile.

"Let's see how he feels tomorrow," said Bucky. "Bed?"

"You have the best ideas."

Around twenty minutes later, they were tucked up together in bed, the light off, the door slightly ajar so that they could hear Loki if he became distressed in the night. They snuggled under the duvet, giving one another a final goodnight kiss, before closing their eyes to go to sleep. Bucky fell asleep quickly, snoring softly as Steve tried to switch off his thoughts and join him in the land of dreams. He was just on the verge of drifting off to sleep, when he heard a strange pattering noise from the hallway.

Steve opened his eyes groggily, squinting into the darkness, unable to make out the source of the noise. The pattering noise stopped, and a second later, Steve gasped as something pressed down on his leg. He looked down the bed, seeing the dark shape of Loki walking towards him, his velvet paws making no noise on the squishy duvet.

"Hey, little buddy," whispered Steve. "You want to come sleep here with us?"

In reply, Loki flopped down silently between Steve and Bucky, his weight pressing gently against Steve's arm, and purred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/631614125322158080/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3
> 
> CAT ADOPTION: Sadly, as mentioned in this chapter, black cats and FIV+ cats take longer to be adopted than their more colourful and healthier counterparts. However, with the right care, FIV+ cats can live long, healthy and happy lives - and black cats are obviously as wonderful and loveable as any other cat! Do consider these often overlooked cats, if you're considering adopting. If you're in the UK and are looking for a feline friend to join your family, the [RSPCA](https://www.rspca.org.uk/findapet) and [Cats Protection](https://www.cats.org.uk/adopt-a-cat) have rescue cats looking for a forever home. Please adopt from a rescue centre, don't shop from a breeder!
> 
> BLACK PANTHER AND T'CHALLA CAMEOS: I hope you enjoyed the cameos from T'Challa and the "Black Panther" Cat Rescue Center. These are, of course, both nods to T'Challa/Black Panther from the MCU.
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos on the last chapter! I'm so happy you guys enjoyed their fluffy (and funny) search for a new home :D
> 
> THOUGHTS: Aww, little Loki has well and truly got his paws into Steve and Bucky's hearts. This black-haired, green-eyed, Norse God-named kitty is of course a nod to Loki from the MCU, although this little guy thankfully has less of a murderous streak! What did you think of this chapter? I hope you enjoyed it. As always, please feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments section below! <3
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see the boys celebrate Steve's birthday...
> 
> TUMBLR: I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Give me a follow if you want exclusive teasers for new chapters, 24 hours before they're published!


	21. A Birthday To Remember

Steve woke up on 4 July with a big smile on his face.

Sunshine was seeping through the curtains, illuminating the bedroom in a warm white glow. He stared up at the ceiling, letting out a soft moan of bliss as happiness surged through him. There were several reasons he was feeling good. First of all, it was 4 July, Independence Day, i.e. a federal holiday, which meant no work. Secondly, it was his birthday, which obviously made the day automatically awesome. And thirdly, the reason he had woken up was because his boyfriend's warm, wet mouth was currently sucking gently on his rapidly hardening cock. He looked down the bed, finding Bucky on his hands and knees between Steve's legs, looking up at him seductively, his lips wrapped sensually around Steve's cock head.

Seeing Steve was awake, Bucky pulled Steve's cock out of his mouth with a wet pop, giving him a wink and smirking up at him.

"Happy birthday, Steve," he said huskily, before licking a long, lewd stripe from Steve's balls right to the tip.

Steve let out a strangled moan in response, bringing down a hand to card it gently through Bucky's hair, before guiding Bucky's mouth back towards his cock.

"Can we make this into a birthday tradition? Like, do this every year?" said Steve, sighing happily as Bucky resumed sucking. "Mmm, this is the best wake-up call ever..."

Bucky made a muffled noise that may have been an agreement (it was difficult to tell with several inches of thick penis shoved in his mouth), before beginning to suck with gusto, swallowing down as much of Steve's cock as possible, bobbing his head up and down as he reached down with one hand to start fondling Steve's balls. Steve groaned, closing his eyes to concentrate on the delicious sensation of Bucky's hot, wet mouth sucking on his dick. That warm coil of pleasure was already beginning to tighten in his gut, his breathing becoming more laboured as Bucky deepthroated him for a while, before eventually pulling off and focusing just on Steve's sensitive head.

Steve gasped as Bucky wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, jerking him off whilst sucking hard on his head. His toes curled in the bed sheets, a broken moan escaping his lips. Bucky began alternating between sucking his cock and leaving hickeys on his thighs, marking him intimately, beautifully, lovingly. Steve could feel his pleasure rising and stuttered out a warning, his orgasm on the verge of crashing over him, his cock aching, his chest heaving. Bucky immediately pulled his mouth and hands away from Steve's cock, leaving him cold and untouched, smirking as he crawled up the bed to plant a lazy kiss on Steve's lips. Steve whined desperately into his mouth, his pleasure fading rapidly at the sudden lack of stimulation. Bucky grinned down at him, cupping his flustered face as if Steve were simply adorable.

"Aww, my poor Steve," cooed Bucky. "Was that mean of me?"

Steve nodded, not even trying to hide his pout as Bucky snorted with laughter.

"More sucking?" Steve said hopefully, before batting his eyelashes. "Because it's my birthday?"

For some reason, Bucky's eyes gleamed mysteriously with excitement, as if he knew some secret that Steve did not. He looked at Steve through his eyelashes, a smirk pulling at his lips as he reached down and gripped Steve's erection by the base, pointing it upwards.

"Oh, I think I can do _a lot_ better than just sucking," said Bucky huskily.

Before Steve could process what Bucky meant, his cock was being engulfed in tight, slick heat as Bucky sank down, his ass swallowing up Steve's erection until it was fully seated inside, Steve's balls flush with Bucky's tight rim. Steve practically choked on his tongue, staring up at Bucky in shock, his brain struggling to process the sheer levels of awesomeness as his cock was hugged by Bucky's velvety walls.

"Wha–" stammered Steve. "What the fuck...?"

Bucky's smirk grew into a wide, smug grin, deliberately clenching his inner muscles to squeeze Steve's cock.

"I might have prepped myself while you were sleeping," said Bucky. "Seeing as it's your birthday and all..."

With that, he began to ride Steve's cock hard and fast, the tight ring of his ass milking Steve's cock with every glorious bounce. Steve's hands scrabbled for purchase in the bed sheets, holding on for dear life as Bucky rode him like a man possessed. The air was thick with lust, filled with the obscene sound of Steve's thick cock squelching in and out of Bucky's slick hole, of flesh slapping against flesh, of their groans and gasps as they fucked hard, the mattress squeaking and swaying beneath them.

Bucky was masturbating as he rode Steve, his cock just as hard and aroused as Steve's, pre-come oozing from him. Steve could smell the enticing scent of his arousal and grabbed hold of Bucky's hips, thrusting up into him, fucking him hard and rough, unable to hold back. Bucky immediately groaned with pleasure as Steve pistoned in and out of him vigorously, matching his thrusts, his tight ass taking every brutal thrust, every hard inch, every single bit of Steve's thick cock. Steve could feel his pleasure rising violently and gritted his teeth, throwing his head back against the pillow and crying out as his orgasm finally crashed over him, his pleasure pulsing through him rhythmically as he filled Bucky's ass with a thick load of creamy come. Bucky came an instant later, spurting over Steve's chest, his ass spasming and clenching around Steve's cock as the final throbs of his orgasm faded away.

Steve breathed hard, giddy with post-orgasmic euphoria as Bucky eased himself off Steve's cock and collapsed onto bed beside him. He immediately wrapped up Bucky in a warm embrace, pressing gentle kisses to his skin, his heart swelling with love when Bucky smiled softly and kissed him back. He ran his hands through Bucky's hair, taking a moment to simply appreciate how beautiful he looked, his face flushed and radiant, his dark hair falling in waves over Steve's fingers, those blue eyes sparkling.

"You're beautiful..." murmured Steve.

"You're welcome," said Bucky, giving him a smirk and a wink, before wrinkling his nose. "And you stink of sex. Get up and shower, stinky boy."

Steve whined, snuggling down beneath the blanket in protest, only for Bucky to rip it off him unceremoniously.

"It's my _birthday!_ " said Steve.

Bucky's eyes widened in fake surprise, clapping a hand against his mouth in mock horror, as if he had only just remembered.

"I'm so sorry!" said Bucky. "Get up and shower, stinky _birthday_ boy!"

Before Steve could argue, Bucky proceeded to heave him bodily out of bed, Steve only just managing to keep his balance as Bucky chivvied him towards the en-suite bathroom.

"What's the big deal?" said Steve, pouting with confusion as Bucky pushed him beneath the shower head and turned it on.

"I have stuff planned for you today," said Bucky, smiling mysteriously. "Can't be late. Get clean – chop chop!"

Steve opened his mouth to argue, only to receive a mouthful of shower water as the system kicked in and deluged him in warm water.

By the time he had spat it out, Bucky had gone.

* * *

Steve enjoyed a nice, _long_ shower – partly as a bratty form of revenge for Bucky cutting short his morning lie-in, and partly because, hey, he enjoyed a lazy, relaxing shower as much as the next person.

By the time he stepped out of the shower, the skin on his toes was wrinkled and he was feeling pleasantly loose and relaxed. He was in high spirits as he pulled on his clothes, running a comb through his hair to make himself look presentable. He padded down the corridor and headed into the kitchen, before stopping in his tracks in astonishment as he stared at the sight before him.

Bucky had decorated the kitchen table with several vases containing the most beautiful array of flowers: roses, sunflowers, lavender, lilies and asters. They formed delightful explosions of colour, all reds and pinks and yellows and purples and greens. Bucky himself was plating up two incredible-looking full English breakfasts, the delicious smell wafting over and filling Steve's nostrils, making his stomach growl. Steve's heart suddenly ached with nostalgia for their time at Buttercup Cottage, remembering all the times they had eaten this very meal in the dining room, looking out at the wildflowers in the front garden in the midst of the English heatwave. Bucky noticed him standing in the doorway and smiled, gesturing for him to come in and sit down.

"Perfect timing," said Bucky. "I just finished cooking."

Steve slid into his chair, thanking Bucky profusely when he placed the plate of food in front of him. Bucky smiled graciously, taking the seat opposite and picking up his knife and fork.

"Dig in," said Bucky. "I got in touch with Leo for tips on how to make it as amazing as his, so fingers crossed it's good."

Steve picked up his cutlery and scooped up a mouthful of sausage, bacon, beans and fried egg, moaning as he bit into it, the rich flavours exploding on his tongue. He closed his eyes, letting himself savour the fantastic taste, blown away by just how perfectly Bucky had managed to recreate Leo's speciality dish.

"Mmm, oh my _God_... This is incredible!" said Steve. "Seriously amazing. _You're_ amazing. Thank you!"

Bucky grinned, clearly excited that the meal had passed Steve's taste test, shovelling some bacon into his mouth and humming with pleasure, apparently pleased with it himself. Steve smiled, digging into the meal, a feeling of fuzzy happiness warming him from the inside. The knowledge that Bucky had gone to such lengths as to make something as simple as breakfast a full-on sensory experience for Steve's birthday was heart-warming. The flowers, the food, the nostalgic meaning behind it – all of it was perfect.

It was then that something Bucky had said finally penetrated Steve's brain, causing his eyebrows to shoot up.

"You got in touch with Leo?" said Steve. "How's he doing?"

Bucky grinned and nodded, twirling his fork absent-mindedly between his fingers.

"He's doing good," said Bucky. "Him and Jemma are still together. The two of them are pretty close to finishing their PhDs at Durham University. Apparently, he's managed to develop these smart-panels that can make objects invisible from any angle! Then he started going on about some super-genius technical mumbo-jumbo that you probably need a PhD just to understand, so he lost me for a bit there..."

Steve snorted with laughter, immediately able to picture the Scotsman enthusiastically launching into an in-depth technical explanation of his engineering project that was incomprehensible to any regular layperson. It was so quintessentially Leo – brilliant, fascinating, yet totally awkward.

"Once he and Jemma have finished their studies, they're actually planning on taking a road trip around the US," continued Bucky. "I said if they come near Boston, we should totally try to meet up."

"That'd be awesome!" said Steve. "I'd love to see them again."

Bucky smiled.

"Yeah, I think it'd be cool," he said. "I told him about us, too – like, that we're a couple. He was really happy for us. Said that he and Jemma had shipped us from the beginning."

"Shipped us?" said Steve, confused.

"Yeah... I think it means that they really wanted us to be a couple?" said Bucky. "Anyway, it was sweet. He said congratulations."

Steve smiled, that sense of nostalgia returning to him. He had forgotten just how fond he had been of Leo and Jemma. They were good people – warm, kind and loveable.

"Leo asked if the four of us could have a Skype call to catch up some time, what do you think?" said Bucky.

Steve remembered Jemma and Leo's sweet, dorky energy and nodded immediately, a grin spreading over his face.

"Totally!" he said. "I'd love that."

It was then that a sleek black shape appeared abruptly on the tabletop. Steve smiled as Loki walked elegantly across the table towards them, first approaching Bucky to give him a head bonk, before greeting Steve by rubbing his head against Steve's hand. Steve gave him a scratch behind the ears, smiling when Loki began to purr.

Loki had blossomed since being adopted by Steve and Bucky, more and more of his loving personality coming out as he became accustomed to them and his new surroundings. One of his favourite activities now was to snuggle up to them whenever they were seated and fall asleep next to them, a cute black ball of happy little snores.

"Hey buddy!" said Steve. "Who's a good boy? You come to tell Daddy happy birthday?"

"I think he's more interested in stealing your bacon," smirked Bucky.

Sure enough, Loki was sniffing with interest at the remaining bacon on Steve's plate. Steve quickly speared it with his fork, eating it before Loki could gather up the stealth or courage to steal it.

It took Loki a moment to realise he had been outsmarted.

As soon as he realised, he gave a loud meow of disgust and walked away – Steve and Bucky both bursting into laughter when Loki shot them an impressive bitch face.

* * *

The next part of Bucky's grand plan for Steve's birthday involved a trip to Boston city centre.

Bucky would not reveal exactly where they were going or what they were going to do, simply reassuring Steve that he would love it, and that the element of surprise was all part of the fun. Steve went along with it, bemused but happy, trusting that Bucky knew him well enough to choose something that he would indeed enjoy. Presently, they were walking along a pavement in Boston city centre, Bucky leading him by the hand, that mysterious smile back on his face.

At last, they stopped outside what looked like an abandoned shop. Steve frowned in confusion as he looked at the boarded-up windows. There were scraps of paper stuck to the wooden boards, declaring the business closed down.

"What are we doing here?" said Steve. "This is just an abandoned building."

Bucky grinned, walking forwards to push at the front door, which to Steve's surprise swung open.

"Yes, but no," said Bucky. "Come inside."

Steve entered the building, before coming to an abrupt halt and blinking in astonishment as he looked around. Rather than being bare and empty as he had expected, it was in fact bustling with people. Pop music was blasting from a radio, a nearby table was laden with snacks, and art supplies were scattered around the room. As he looked around, a familiar mop of red hair cut through the crowd towards him. Natasha flung her arms around Steve's neck to hug him as she drew level.

"Happy birthday, bitch!" she said. "You survived another year – congrats!"

Steve grinned, returning the hug and ruffling her hair.

"Thanks, Nat," he said, before returning his gaze to the curiously busy abandoned shop. "What is this place?"

"It's a closed down business," said Bucky. " _Except_ , it's just been bought by this art foundation to be a community art space! This is the opening event. People get to paint whatever they want on the walls. At the end of the week, everything gets sanded down and painted over with white paint. And then the process repeats. It's transient art. Beautiful but temporary. Different every time. You know, arty shit! I thought it sounded right up your street."

Steve's eyes shone as he looked around excitedly. It sounded like an incredible initiative, to paint whatever one desired, in the knowledge that in seven days' time it would be erased forever, to create a blank canvas for the next time. It felt a little like an analogy for life – constantly evolving, changing and growing.

"This is so fucking cool," said Steve, barely able to contain his excitement. "Oh my God, this might be the coolest birthday ever, thank you!"

Bucky grinned, leaning in to plant a lingering kiss to Steve's lips.

"You're welcome," he said.

The kiss went on perhaps a little longer than was socially acceptable, Steve's eyes slipping closed as the tip of Bucky's tongue slipped into his mouth. Bucky's hands tightened on Steve's hips, Steve's cock stirring in response, when–

"Happy birthday, Steve! Hope you don't mind your boss hanging around on your day off!"

All traces of arousal evaporated as Steve and Bucky drew apart, to find none other than Phil Coulson standing less than a foot away from them, his blue eyes twinkling innocently behind his thick glasses. Steve smiled, laughing as he gave Phil a fist bump. He did not mind Phil being there at all. He saw Phil as a friend, first and foremost, rather than a boss. It helped that Phil was not wearing anything close to his usual office attire – instead, donning some cute denim dungarees.

"Thanks, Phil," he said. "How are you doing, man?"

"Good, good," said Phil. "This is such a cool idea, right? Natasha told me about it last week! Had to come check it out. Oh, look, people have started painting!"

Steve looked at where Phil was pointing, seeing that people had indeed started painting on the walls. Steve felt his heart swell with joy, the artistic side of him buzzing with excitement as he watched people's creations take shape all around them. Natasha and Phil hurried off to join in, leaving Steve and Bucky alone once more.

"Do you want to go paint now, or just watch other people paint for a bit and paint later?" asked Bucky.

"Let's just watch for now and paint later," said Steve. "I love seeing other people's art."

Watching other people paint was fascinating. It was almost like looking through a window into their souls, seeing their innermost, truest selves. They saw a couple of young children joyfully putting handprints on the wall. They saw an elderly man painting a beautiful portrait of his wife. They saw some young adults who looked as though they might be students, creating an abstract piece of art using swirls of colour, full of raw emotion. It was precious beyond measure – art that had never been created before and would never be created again – unique, beautiful, breath-taking.

Eventually, they came upon Natasha and Phil busy at work painting on one of the far walls. Steve gave a snort of laughter when he saw that Phil was creating a detailed painting of his beloved cherry red 1962 Corvette, Lola. Phil loved his car. It was his pride and joy, bought from a scrap yard and painstakingly renovated to the beauty it was today. Meanwhile, Natasha was painting something much more abstract – and badass. It took Steve a moment to realise what it was: a spider holding guns in each of its eight hands. His eyebrows shot up – impressed, curious, amused and slightly disturbed that Natasha had chosen to paint such a terrifying concept.

"What's that?" said Steve.

Natasha startled in surprise, not having heard Steve and Bucky approach. She smiled when she saw them, standing back to let them have a closer look at her artwork.

"It's a black widow spider," she said. "They're my favourite kind of spider."

"Your favourite kind of spider is the infamously poisonous black widow?" said Bucky incredulously. "Why?!"

"They're beautiful!" said Natasha, crossing her arms with a frown.

"What's with the guns?" said Steve, pointing at the weapons in the spider's hands.

Natasha shrugged, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, accidentally smudging some paint on her face in the process.

"I don't know," admitted Natasha. "I just thought it looked cool."

Steve grinned, giving her a high five, before coming to a section of wall that was so far untouched.

"Shall we paint?" said Steve, his artistic side now well and truly fired up.

Bucky smiled and nodded, grabbing some acrylic paints and two paint brushes from nearby, offering one to Steve.

Steve got started, quickly losing himself in the joy of painting. He started off just doing some experimental, abstract colour play, before another idea formed in his mind. A smile curved his lips as he committed to his new idea. He carefully painted himself and Bucky, surrounded by white roses – the symbol of Yorkshire and the flowers that had surrounded them when they had first become acquainted in the back garden of Buttercup Cottage. He painted them lovingly, pouring his heart and soul into it, shielding it from Bucky until it was finally finished, before stepping back, tapping Bucky on the shoulder to reveal his artwork.

Bucky stared at it for a long moment, his eyes wide, before letting out a guffaw of laughter.

"Oh my God, you've got to be kidding me..." said Bucky.

With that, Bucky stepped back, revealing his own (startlingly similar) artwork, showing the two of them surrounded by a love heart.

Steve gazed at it for a long moment, his heart doing all kinds of wonderful flips in his chest at the realisation that the two of them had independently thought that the most beautiful thing they could paint was their relationship together.

It brought a tear to his eye, and suddenly he was embracing Bucky once more, pressing their lips together, his heart overflowing with love.

* * *

That evening, they decided to order a takeaway pizza. After their busy day painting and hanging out with Natasha and Phil, neither of them could muster up the energy to cook. Besides, since it was both Steve's birthday and Independence Day, they felt justified in having a night off and enjoying a lazy evening together. Today was a day of celebration. Fuck chores.

Presently, they were hanging out on the sofa in the reading room, having just finished their pizzas. The fairy lights were switched on, giving the place a warm, cosy ambience. They were waiting for their (unofficial, yet traditionally totally awesome) neighbourhood Independence Day fireworks display to get started, the curtains open so that they would be able to watch from the comfort of their home. Loki was with them on the sofa, snuggled up beside Steve, snoozing peacefully. Steve smiled, savouring the moment, this simple perfection, this domestic bliss, this beautiful end to a wonderful day.

"Thank you for today," said Steve, taking Bucky by the hands. "The flowers, the breakfast, the art thing – it was amazing, all of it. Thank you."

Bucky smiled, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss to Steve's lips.

"I actually have two more things planned," Bucky said hesitantly.

Something about his tone of voice made Steve take notice. He sounded vulnerable, shy, almost anxious. Steve cocked his head to the side, curious as to what else Bucky could have planned. He swept his thumbs soothingly across the backs of Bucky's hands, letting him know that whatever he had up his sleeve, he had no reason to be nervous.

"Well, I'm not going to say no to more awesome birthday stuff," joked Steve, hoping that his light tone of voice would put Bucky at ease.

It seemed to work, Bucky smiling as he slid off the sofa.

"Alright, one sec," he said. "I'll be right back."

Bucky disappeared from the room momentarily, leaving Steve to wonder what else he could have planned, before returning about a minute later with two items: a small chocolate cake and his laptop. Bucky placed his laptop aside, presenting the chocolate cake with a flourish, two forks at the ready.

"No birthday is complete without birthday cake," said Bucky. "It's chocolate cake – your favourite!"

Steve beamed with delight, taking the proffered fork, digging into the cake and taking a bite. He closed his eyes as the decadent flavour exploded in his mouth, rich and luxurious and sweet. He moaned loudly, giving a happy whole-body wiggle as he savoured the incredible taste.

"This is _so_ good," said Steve. "Have I told you recently that I love you?"

"Yes, multiple times," smirked Bucky. "But you can tell me again, if you want."

Steve bonked him gently on the nose with his fork, smiling when Bucky's eyes crossed to see if the action had left any chocolate cake on his nose.

"I love you," said Steve.

"I love you too, you weirdo..."

They finished the cake at a leisurely pace, in no rush, enjoying it for the simple pleasure it brought them. By the time they were finished, Steve felt a little like he needed to go into a food coma, opting instead to simply recline against the back of the sofa, being careful not to jostle Loki, who was still sleeping beside him. He sighed contentedly, wiping his mouth to make sure he did not have any chocolate on his lips, fully sated and happy. A few minutes later, he was on the verge of dozing off into a nap, when he suddenly remembered that Bucky had said he had _two_ more things planned.

The birthday cake was the first.

What was the second?

Steve turned to face him, finding Bucky once more looking anxious.

"What's up?" said Steve.

Bucky took a deep breath, reaching behind him to grab his laptop and boot it up. Steve blinked with confusion, totally lost as to where this could be going.

"So... You know when I first tracked you down to Boston, I pretended to be an author so that I could get a meeting with you at Stanlee Publishers?" said Bucky.

Steve frowned. Of course he remembered.

"Yeah," he said. "You pretended you'd written a novel about our relationship in Thornton-le-Dale."

Bucky nodded, before pulling a face.

"Well... Sure, at the time, I was just pretending. But then... I thought, you know what? This is some crazy romantic shit. People might actually enjoy reading a novel like that."

Steve chuckled.

"Yeah," joked Steve. "I mean, romantic fiction is literally my job. I sure hope there's a market for it, otherwise I need to switch careers."

Bucky nodded, his fingers twisting anxiously in his lap.

"Well... That's what I thought, too. And I've always wanted to give writing a go, so I figured, why not? So, I've been writing a novel... About us. About our romance. It's about 100,000 words so far."

Steve's eyes widened with shock. Of all the things he had expected Bucky to say, it had not been that. He noticed, now, in retrospect, that Bucky had spent more time typing on his laptop recently, but he had thought nothing of it, assuming he was simply messaging with his friends or sisters. He remembered, too, in Thornton-le-Dale, that Bucky had mentioned that his dream job would be something creative, like an artist, or a musician, or a writer. Steve had forgotten – but apparently Bucky had been nurturing this creative side of him in secret, writing a novel about their love.

"Can I read it?" said Steve.

Bucky's hands clenched anxiously, a blush immediately colouring his cheeks. He looked so shy, so awkward, that Steve almost backtracked, was about to tell Bucky that he did not have to, when Bucky nodded, opening up a Word document and passing the laptop silently to Steve.

Steve took it carefully, devouring the words, skimming through some sections and taking the time to read excerpts from others. It was a full chronology of their relationship, from their time together in Thornton-le-Dale, to the time Steve had been moping and alone in Boston after thinking Bucky had deliberately spurned him at Harker's Point, to their beautiful reunion in the offices at Stanlee Publishers. It was surprisingly well-written, considering Bucky had no prior experience in writing and no editor. It was bizarre to see their names on the page, as if they were mere characters in a book, but Steve was a consummate professional; he could look past the weirdness of it and see the raw potential of the novel to entice and enthral readers. He scrolled to the end, finding to his surprise that it did not appear to be finished.

"What's going to happen to the characters?" said Steve.

Bucky gave an anxious laugh, his hand sweaty as he reached out and grasped Steve's gently.

"I've been thinking a lot about that recently," said Bucky. "And I think I've figured out how I want it to end. I want them to get married. I want them to be together forever and live happily ever after and all that cliché shit. I want them to have the most sickeningly sweet ending ever."

Bucky paused, staring at him meaningfully.

Steve's heart melted. That was totally adorable.

"That sounds great," smiled Steve. "Readers love a happy ending."

There was a beat of silence, during which time Bucky continued to stare at him intently, as if trying to impart some hidden meaning. Steve frowned with confusion.

"What?" said Steve.

"Jesus... You're so blonde! Are you fucking serious?" muttered Bucky, before taking a deep breath and cupping Steve's face gently. "Steve, you're the most incredible man I've ever met. You're kind and sweet and loving and you have no idea how lucky I feel every day to wake up next to you. I want to love you forever. I want to go on adventures with you for the rest of my life. I want us to spend our youth together, and then I want us to grow old together too. Will you give our characters a happy ending? Will you marry me?"

Steve's mouth dropped open in shock, completely floored by Bucky's bombshell proposal, overwhelmed by love and adrenaline and euphoria and a million other synonyms for _yes, yes, yes!_

Steve wished, in retrospect, that he could have said something as beautiful to Bucky as Bucky had said to him, but instead, he simply burst into tears, nodding furiously and jumping up to embrace Bucky in a bone-crushing hug.

Fireworks began to explode outside – Independence Day celebrations that felt so perfectly timed that it could almost have been written in a book, like an ode to their love – bright, passionate and perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST ONE MORE CHAPTER: Wtf?! There's just one more chapter to go! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/632338230708142080/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights). Feel free to give it a re-blog if you want to give this story a signal boost <3 
> 
> LOLA EASTER EGG: Did any Agents of SHIELD fans recognise Phil's cherry red 1962 Corvette, Lola, in this chapter? It is his (flying!) car in the TV series! I hope you enjoyed that little Easter egg.
> 
> BLACK WIDOW EASTER EGG: I hope you also enjoyed this chapter's little nod to MCU Natasha's alias "Black Widow". It was the type of spider she painted on the wall, and of course it was holding guns, much like her character often does in the MCU!
> 
> STEVE'S BIRTHDAY EASTER EGG: He may not be Captain America in this fic, but I couldn't resist making Steve's birthday 4 July, i.e. American Independence Day.
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you for all your love, comments and kudos! It is the most fantastic motivation and it really makes me happy to know you guys are enjoying this story so much <3
> 
> THOUGHTS: Ahhhh! Steve and Bucky are going to get married!! Please feel free to squeeee with me in the comments section below :D
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be the final chapter and will see Steve and Bucky's story come to a beautiful conclusion. There will be a wedding, a honeymoon, old friends from England and Scotland, and a throwback to the place it all began <3 
> 
> TUMBLR: I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Come say hi to me over there!


	22. There Are Many Love Stories, But This One Is Ours

The mattress was squeaking.

It reminded Steve of the first time he had become aware of Bucky's existence – flushed red with embarrassment as he listened to him masturbate in the next room at Buttercup Cottage, the other man's squeaky mattress and muffled moans carrying straight through the paper thin wall. Steve never could have imagined, then, that he would fall in love with that man, that they would one day live together, with the intention of living together for the rest of their earthbound days.

This was what he was thinking about, the mattress squeaking away beneath them, when Bucky gave a particularly delicious thrust, grazing directly against Steve's prostate. Steve groaned with pleasure, throwing his head back against the pillows and wrapping his legs around Bucky's waist, pulling him deeper. Bucky latched onto the side of Steve's neck, sucking gently at the sensitive flesh there, making him tingle.

Steve adored lazy Sunday mornings like this; making love, curtains drawn, no concept of time, just sharing their love within the four walls of their home. Steve brought a hand up, tangling it up in Bucky's hair, scratching gently at his scalp in the way he knew never failed to make Bucky melt. As expected, Bucky gave a soft moan of pleasure, bringing his lips from Steve's neck to his lips, kissing him gently, his tongue flicking into Steve's mouth and caressing Steve's own.

Eventually, their love making grew more passionate, both of them sweating as Bucky's thrusts got harder, faster, more frantic. The mattress was squeaking, and suddenly Steve was back in Thornton-le-Dale, on that squeaky bed, the ghost of the English heatwave whispering across his skin, and then he was orgasming, back in their Boston home, groaning, his eyes screwed shut, as thick ropes of come painted his chest, his ass clenching and spasming, catapulting Bucky into his own pleasure.

They came down from their high slowly, sweat and semen cooling on their skin. Bucky's softening cock slipped from the cleft of Steve's ass, a little dribble of come spilling out of his hole and onto the bed sheets. Steve smiled sleepily, allowing Bucky to wipe his chest clean with a tissue, before they entwined their limbs, cuddling as they floated on a cloud of post-coital bliss.

They had about quarter of an hour of peaceful tranquillity, before a soft meow punctuated the silence.

Loki jumped up onto the bed gracefully, before walking up to them and flopping down between them. Steve and Bucky took a moment to admire him – _their fur baby_ – the grumpy cat who had been so skittish and bad tempered that the rescue shelter had considered him unhomeable. He had blossomed into a perfect little snuggle bug under Steve and Bucky's care. Steve stroked his sleek black fur, smiling when Loki began to purr happily, leaning over to drop a little kiss onto the top of his velvety feline head.

"I finished liaising with the wedding caterers yesterday, by the way," said Bucky. "That's all sorted now."

Steve grinned, his stomach flipping with excitement, the way it always did when he thought about their fast-approaching wedding date. He took hold of Bucky's hand, gripping it tightly.

"So, that's the venue sorted, the ceremony and reception planned, the guest list and catering finalised..." continued Bucky, ticking them off on his fingers. "The only thing left to finish off is the decorations, which is _your_ job, dear future husband."

"I'm almost done," said Steve hastily. "I'm just doing the finishing touches today."

Bucky smirked.

"I wasn't nagging," he said. "But cool."

"What are you going to do?" said Steve.

"Natasha sent over my latest manuscript with some edits yesterday," said Bucky. "I'm going to work on that."

"I still can't believe Phil made _Natasha_ your editor!" pouted Steve. "She doesn't even normally do editing; _I_ normally edit gay male fiction!"

Bucky snorted with laughter, before kissing away the pout on Steve's face.

"This novel's already _about_ you," said Bucky. "You couldn't _edit_ it too. The Universe couldn't handle that much cringe..."

Steve gave a small harrumph of faux indignation.

The grumpy mask slipped a little when Bucky gave him another, longer kiss.

It slipped completely when Loki crept up and gently touched Steve's nose with his own.

* * *

The day of their wedding was, simultaneously, the most nerve-wracking and beautiful day of Steve's life.

They had chosen to get married in Boston Public Library, a beautiful old building with stunning nineteenth-century architecture. It had an ethereal, almost religious quality to it, despite being entirely secular. With both Steve and Bucky being huge book lovers, it was the perfect location.

Presently, Steve was in one of the side rooms, sweating in his suit, looking at himself anxiously in the mirror. His blonde hair was swept neatly to the side, the slight flush of his cheeks and the tremor in his hands the only things belying his inner nerves. He was wearing a smart grey suit, with a cream waistcoat and a cream cravat. Lavender flowers were attached to his lapel, the sweet scent filling his nostrils. He ran his hands down the front of his suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

"Stop fidgeting," smiled his mother. "You look perfect."

Steve met her gaze in the mirror, his nerves lessening slightly when she beamed back at him. She stepped up beside him, laying a soothing hand on his arm, practically bursting with pride as she appraised him.

"My baby boy," she said, her eyes suddenly shimmering with tears. "Oh, you don't know how long I've been looking forward to this day. Promise me you'll stop fretting and enjoy yourself, OK?"

Steve laughed, dropping a kiss on the top of her head and wrapping an arm around her, immensely grateful to have such an incredible woman by his side on his special day.

"I'll try, mom," he said. "How long now?"

She looked down at her watch, her nostrils flaring with excitement as she looked back up at him.

"Just two more minutes," she said. "Are you ready?"

Steve nodded faintly, his body half-way between puking with nerves and simply giving up and passing out.

"If I faint, will you catch me?" he said anxiously, twisting his hands together.

His mother laughed, steering him gently towards the door.

"You were always such a dramatic boy," she said. "No wonder you ended up editing books."

"That's not an answer!" squawked Steve.

His mother took his hand, grasping it firmly. He clung back, drawing strength from her strength, trying to absorb some of her stoic energy through the simple power of touch.

"You're not going to faint," she said firmly. "You're going to walk down that aisle with your mom by your side, and then you're going to marry your soulmate. Everything's going to be fine, I promise."

Steve nodded, blinking back tears. Dear God, he could not allow himself to start bawling _now_.

"I love you, mom," he whispered.

His mother did not reply, simply leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, before pulling gently at his hand, leading him to the doorway, where the door was slightly ajar, leading out into the reading room that was to be where they wed. Steve's mouth was dry, his heart thundering in his chest, as he stared at the wooden door, hyper-aware that on the other side, there were around sixty guests; family and friends from near and far, all gathered to share their beautiful celebration.

Piano music began to play and the door swung open, revealing Bates Hall, one of the most stunning rooms in the library, with an ornate, high-vaulted, cream-coloured ceiling, tall majestic windows and books lining the walls. The reading tables had been transformed for the wedding, draped with white lace and decorated with a stunning selection of flowers, all blues and purples and pinks. It was quite possibly the most beautiful room Steve had ever stepped foot in, yet he could see none of it, because his gaze was fixed on an even more beautiful sight: Bucky, arm in arm with his mother, dressed to perfection in a black suit, cream waistcoat and a navy-blue cravat that brought out the stunning blue of his eyes.

They mirrored one another, walking slowly down their own little aisles, their mothers walking alongside them proudly, until they met in the middle, facing one another in front of the altar. Steve's mother gave his hand one final pat, before stepping back, and suddenly Steve was alone, his heart racing as he gazed at Bucky, unable to comprehend just how much love he had for the other man: his lover, his future husband, his soulmate.

The officiant smiled, launching into the usual spiel about them being gathered here today, blah blah blah. Steve could not concentrate. His attention was scattered between Bucky and the knowledge that to his right, all of his closest friends and family were watching. He dared to shift his gaze slightly to the right, finding Natasha beaming back at him from the front row, looking stunning in a long red dress. She gave him an eager thumbs up, nodding her head towards the officiant, who finally seemed to have come to the end of their speech.

"Steven Grant Rogers," they said. "Do you take James Buchanan Barnes to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?"

He startled. He had not expected it to come so soon, despite having rehearsed this part multiple times in the preceding few weeks. It was incredibly surreal. He had heard those words more times than he cared to admit, watching cheesy rom-coms. He had attended his fair share of weddings. These were words he was acutely familiar with – but they had always been about other people, other couples, other loves. To suddenly be the speaker of those words, to be the centre of attention, to be part of two halves that were about to be made whole, felt akin to having an out-of-body experience.

"I do," he said.

His heart swelled with emotion. This was it. The beginning of a new chapter in their lives. His eyes brimmed with tears, Bucky's gaze equally watery as their eyes met.

"And do you, James Buchanan Barnes, take Steven Grant Rogers to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?"

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight with emotion, letting out a long, loud exhale before speaking.

"Fuck yeah, I do!"

The crowd tittered with laughter. The officiant smiled, seemingly unphased by Bucky's colourful answer.

"By the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you married," they said. "You may now kiss each other!"

Steve and Bucky had shared many kisses, but none compared to that first one as husbands, their love legally recognised at last, their friends and family cheering with delighted applause, the sounds reverberating majestically around the opulent reading room at Boston Public Library – all lost to the two of them as they embraced, the whole world in their hands; for their whole world, at that moment, was one another.

* * *

Steve's favourite thing about weddings – aside from the getting married part, of course – was that it brought together all the important people connected to the happy couple.

The fact that it was _his_ wedding made this aspect of the event simply beautiful, because the reception was basically a huge party consisting of all his favourite people in the whole entire world. By now, he and Bucky had been married for approximately five hours, the food had been eaten, and the party was in full swing. Everyone was enjoying themselves – some busting moves to the music pumping from the DJ set, others perusing the books that lined the walls, others sat in little groups chatting and laughing.

Presently, Steve and Bucky were making their way around the room, thanking and socialising with all the guests. Steve's face ached from smiling; to see so many people whom he loved made his heart feel as though it had swollen to at least twice its usual size.

They found their parents sat together on one of the tables, the four of them deep in conversation. Steve and Bucky were blessed to have parents-in-law who not only loved their respective sons-in-law, but got on like a house on fire themselves. The first time the four of them had met, they had spent hours talking, finding that they shared a love of gardening, reading and 1950s jazz. Just then, Steve's mother spotted them approaching, letting out a happy squeal.

"Our boys!" she said. "How's married life?"

Steve laughed, sitting down next to her.

"Just as great as it was when you asked thirty minutes ago, thanks," he winked.

"Who chose the flowers?" said Steve's father. "They're absolutely beautiful."

"Joint effort," said Bucky. "But Steve came up with the colour scheme."

The parents congratulated them on their choice, before Bucky's mother gestured to the books around them.

"I never knew a library could be so beautiful," she said. "I love it. What made you choose this place?"

Steve smiled, taking Bucky's hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Well, I've always loved this space," he said. "I come here all the time, always have done, ever since I was a kid. And since I'm an editor – and now that Bucky's a published author – we thought it was perfect."

The four parents made noises of excitement, all of them showering Bucky with compliments for the publication of his debut novel the week prior. It was then that Steve spotted a familiar mop of red hair and an equally familiar pair of thick glasses. Natasha and Phil sat down for a rest at a nearby table, having just spent the last twenty minutes dancing wildly together. After a few more minutes of chit-chat, Steve and Bucky excused themselves from their parents' table, heading over to see their friends.

"What's up, married bitches?" said Natasha, standing up to give them both a tight hug. "Congratulations! This is 100% the most awesome wedding I've ever been to."

"Because it's in a library?" said Steve, hugging her back.

"Because it's two of my best friends," she said.

"Aww, Nat! That was actually _sweet!_ I always knew you had a fluffy side!" gushed Bucky, laughing when she turned to glare at him.

"If you say my name and the word 'fluffy' in the same sentence ever again, I will spray paint your car with a huge pair of titties," said Natasha, her cool green eyes boring into Bucky's blue ones.

There was a tense beat of silence, during which time Bucky slowly stepped away from Natasha, before Phil cleared his throat, defusing the situation with his gentle energy and kind smile.

"Congratulations, guys," said Phil, shaking their hands warmly. "I couldn't be happier for you both."

"Thanks, Phil," said Steve. "Are you having a good time?"

Phil nodded enthusiastically, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"Yeah!" he said. "This is one of my favourite buildings in Boston. The books, the architecture, the ambience... It's amazing."

Just then, Phil's phone dinged in his pocket. He fished it out and glanced down at it, his eyes widening with excitement, before putting it back.

"I've been getting calls and messages all day," he said, his eyes shining as he switched his gaze to Bucky. "About your novel! It's selling like crazy. We've been getting interview requests from the likes of The New York Times, GQ, even CNN! I'll tell you more about it later. We'll book in some press."

Bucky's eyes widened with shock. He turned to Steve, as if seeking confirmation that what he had just heard was true. Steve grinned, nodding enthusiastically, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek, unbelievably proud.

"Wow..." said Bucky. "That's... unexpected. Yeah, we'll definitely talk about it later."

Natasha and Phil gave them one more hug, before returning to the dancefloor, revealing the two people who had by far travelled the furthest to attend the wedding.

Jemma and Leo were huddled in a corner by one of the bookshelves, holding one massive book between them, their heads bent over it as they devoured its contents. Steve pointed them out to Bucky with a smile, the two of them walking across the room in their direction. As they drew closer, they realised that Jemma and Leo were engaged in a passionate discussion about stem cells.

"...could be an absolute breakthrough if we harness that regenerative cellular power," Jemma was saying. "Imagine the medical applications! So many diseases could be cured and– Oh! Look, it's them!"

Jemma and Leo carefully put down the huge biology book on a nearby table, before flinging their arms around Steve and Bucky, a flurry of hugs and overlapping English and Scottish voices.

"Congratulations!"

"Leo and I are _so_ pleased for you both!"

"Getting married in a library is a fantastic idea–"

"–guests can just go off and read, if they get bored!"

"–can't believe how long it's been–"

"–did you publish a novel? I heard a red-haired lady talking about it earlier–"

"–hey, snap, I've got that exact same waistcoat at home!"

"Fitz, let them talk!"

Steve laughed, immediately at ease in their presence, their excited dorky energy just as warm and comforting as he remembered it being in Thornton-le-Dale.

"Hey, guys," said Steve. "It's amazing to see you both again. Thanks for making the journey, we'd have totally understood if you'd turned it down."

"Oh, we would have done, if we'd been in the UK!" Jemma said brightly, unabashed in her honesty. "But we were over here anyway doing our road trip, so when we got your wedding invitation, we just added Boston to the itinerary."

"Nice!" said Bucky. "I remember you saying you wanted to come here for a road trip. It's to celebrate finishing your PhDs, right?"

Jemma and Leo beamed, both nodding eagerly.

"You're speaking to _Dr._ Leo Fitz and _Dr._ Jemma Simmons," winked Leo, thrusting his chest out obnoxiously as he pretended to smoke a pipe.

Steve and Bucky laughed, giving them both high fives of congratulations. It was when he was high-fiving Jemma that Steve noticed something different, metal glinting in the light. Steve took Jemma's left hand gently, angling it down so that he could see. He smiled at the delicate diamond ring there, looking up to see Jemma smiling shyly.

"You guys are engaged?" said Steve.

Adorable nods from both of them.

"Oh my God, come here, you guys!"

Steve wrapped them up in a tight hug, both of them giggling when Bucky hugged them from the other side, enveloping them in a little cocoon.

"Damn, Buttercup Cottage sure is a good place to find a soulmate, right?" said Bucky.

The four of them separated from their tangled hug, before sitting down at a nearby table. Jemma and Leo went quiet, both of them looking pensively into the middle distance. Steve and Bucky exchanged glances and smiled. Jemma and Leo were so in sync it was almost as if they were psychically linked.

"What are you guys thinking about?" asked Steve.

It was Jemma who answered, after a small pause.

"Who would have thought, when you checked into rooms 2 and 3 at Buttercup Cottage, that it would be the start of a journey that would bring us all here?"

* * *

There was only one location they could have chosen for their honeymoon – the same place it all began: Thornton-le-Dale.

Going back was like being smacked in the face with a dumbbell full of nostalgia, beautiful memories flooding back to them, layers upon layers of meaning, and the knowledge of how in love they had been then, and how in love they still were now, and all the things that had happened in between.

Presently, they were standing side by side at Harker's Point, waiting for the sun to set as it sank slowly towards the horizon, both of them quiet as they contemplated everything that had happened to lead them to that moment.

Steve remembered the way Bucky had walked into the meeting room at Stanlee Publishers when he had finally managed to track Steve down, snow on top of his woolly hat, his cheeks flushed pink from Boston's cold winter weather. He remembered when they had walked around Central Park in New York City about a month later, on their first official date, re-learning the shape of one another's hands. He remembered the big things – moving in together, and meeting one another's parents, and getting married in Boston Public Library. He remembered the small things – countless board games with Natasha, lazy mornings cuddling with Loki, and the smell of home, unique and soothing and undefinable. These were their moments. Not all of them were major, but all of them were beautiful, because in all of them they were together.

"You know, for someone who hates romance novels, you sure did a great job of writing one," said Steve.

Bucky snorted with laughter, shaking his head as he blushed.

"The whole thing is cringey and you know it," joked Bucky.

Steve smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. Bucky was adorably awkward about his surprise hit of a novel. Fame was not something he had ever sought out, but the book had ended up being wildly popular, and there had been a few crazy weeks when Bucky had literally been doing back-to-back TV, magazine and newspaper interviews. Steve turned to look once more towards the sunset, wrapping an arm around Bucky's waist as the valley containing Thornton-le-Dale was filled with beautiful golden light.

"Seriously though," Steve said softly. "I'm proud of you. You're a New York Times bestseller! Do you have any idea how amazing that is?"

"I bet you bought all the copies," smirked Bucky.

It was a joke, and Steve knew it, but he never could resist looking at it, so he slipped his rucksack off his back and rummaged around until he found his copy of Bucky's novel. Bucky blushed when Steve pulled it out, his cheeks going an adorable shade of red.

"I only bought one," said Steve.

Steve thumbed it open to the first page, running his finger over the words printed there:

**_Hot Summer Nights_ **

**_James Barnes_ **

**_Dedicated to my husband, Steve_ **

Bucky had doodled around it: there was an arrow pointing to his name, along with the words "that's me!", as well as an arrow pointing to Steve's, saying "that's you!" His signature was scrawled near the bottom, next to Steve's favourite part where, in brackets, Bucky had written: "don't try to sell this on eBay, jerk".

Bucky stared at it for a moment, bemused, before shaking his head.

"Do you carry that around with you everywhere?" said Bucky.

Steve smiled.

"Maybe," he said.

They lapsed into silence. The sun was setting properly now, casting the valley in a glorious wash of orange light. Steve rested his head on Bucky's shoulder, looking out at the vista. Thornton-le-Dale was beautiful. From up here at Harker's Point, they could see everything: the stream where Bucky had fallen in, shortly after they had first met; the green that had been transformed for the village fête; the willow tree where they had sucked one another off; the roof of the tiny B&B where they had met and fallen in love. Thornton-le-Dale had been their ground zero, their beginning, their origin story. It would always have a special place in Steve's heart.

Steve was suddenly taken by a strong sense of gratitude. He was grateful to Phil, who had managed to convince him to represent Stanlee Publishers at the Annual World Romantic Writers' Conference. He was grateful to Peter Parker, the work experience boy, who had made the mistake with the dates when booking his flights and accommodation. He was even grateful to Brock Rumlow, who had been such a negligent supervisor that he had not picked up on Peter's mistake. He blinked away tears, turning to look at Bucky.

"Do you know why I always carry this book with me?" said Steve.

"Because you're insufferably romantic?" said Bucky.

Steve smiled, before kissing the shell of Bucky's ear and giving his reply.

"Because there are many love stories in the world, but this one is perfect, because this one is ours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ART: You can check out the promo art for this chapter [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/632879771718664192/stucky-holiday-romance-au-hot-summer-nights).
> 
> MASTERPOST: I've created [this masterpost](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/632880063876104192/hot-summer-nights-read-the-fic-here-rated) on Tumblr to promote this fic. If you've enjoyed this story, then please hit that "re-blog" button to share the love!
> 
> THANK YOU: Wow, I can't believe this story is finally over. After five and a half months and over 100,000 words, we're finally at the end... Thank you SO MUCH to every single one of you who have taken the time to read this story and follow the characters on their journeys. It has been an honour and a privilege to share this work and my area of the world with you, especially during this time of pandemic when going on holiday is not something a lot of us can easily do. I want to give a huge shout out to all of you who have commented, left kudos and sent me messages of support both on here and on Tumblr - feedback is really important to writers and I appreciate it immensely that you've taken the time out of your day to give me some; you're the kindest, most awesome, most enthusiastic fans I could wish for! Thank you for sharing this journey with me; it's been incredible <3
> 
> BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY PHOTOS: Boston Public Library is a real place and parts of it really can be hired out for events such as weddings! It is absolutely beautiful. If you want to see some pictures, have a look [here](https://www.bpl.org/photos-of-bates-hall/)!
> 
> METAFICTION: This story is an example of metafiction, which is a story within a story. You have been reading both my fanfic and Bucky's novel. I hope you enjoyed this one final twist! :D
> 
> ANY QUESTIONS: I hope this final chapter has tied up all the loose ends. If anything is unclear though, or if you have any questions at all, then just leave a comment and I will get back to you.
> 
> ALL STORY ART AND Q&As: You can see all things Hot Summer Nights-related on my Tumblr account by searching the "hot summer nights" tag [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/tagged/hot-summer-nights).  
>    
> KEEP IN TOUCH: Don't be a stranger, keep in touch! I am on Tumblr under the name [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/).
> 
> FUTURE STORIES: If you want to get an email whenever I post something new, then click on [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991) and become a "User Subscriber". Be aware that this is DIFFERENT from the Subscribe button on the top of _this_ page, which is for _this story only_ :)

**Author's Note:**

> OTHER STUFF I'VE WRITTEN:
> 
> [Fearless](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8346310) (291,275 words) - A Black Widow origin story, exploring Natasha's life as a Red Room Academy student, KGB agent, SHIELD agent and Avenger - and how she grew to be so much more than any of those labels.
> 
> [Steve And Bucky's Kinky Alphabet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776473) (176,544 words) - 26 chapters of alphabetised porn-with-plot featuring Steve and Bucky. Or: the dark fic where JARVIS goes rogue and kidnaps the Avengers, and Steve and Bucky fuck a lot and fall in love.
> 
> [Time After Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652011) (124,026 words) - Steve, Iraq war veteran and long-time loner, feels like his life is stuck in a rut. So, when Natasha invites him to a masquerade party at a kink club, he throws caution to the wind and decides to go. There, he meets the mysterious Winter Soldier.
> 
> [Vengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7285612) (51,573 words) - Bucky falls from the train. Steve will do anything to take revenge on those responsible for his death - even if it means joining HYDRA.
> 
> [Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704965) (40,706 words) - Bucky is a man with a big secret: for 70 years, he was HYDRA's weapon. Now, he is trying to move on with his life and is forming a relationship with Tony. All seems to be going well, until a security breach at SHIELD threatens to expose his past.
> 
> [Memento](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268359) (31,043 words) - Steve awakes from a coma in a post-apocalyptic world - with no memory. Will he ever remember his past, or why he feels so drawn to fellow survivor Bucky?
> 
> [Dear Steve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904116) (16,767 words) - What if Bucky never fell from the train and was never captured and frozen by HYDRA? Dear Steve is a series of love letters written by Bucky for Steve, starting in 1945.
> 
> [Dear Bucky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22116628) (16,980 words) - Dear Bucky is a series of love letters written by Steve for Bucky, immediately following on from the events of Dear Steve.
> 
> [The Penthouse Suite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25339414) (15,873 words) - Sex worker Bucky has the chance to earn $5,000 in one night. All he has to do is go to the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel and spend the night with his client, Steve. The catch? Steve is a massive pervert, intent on using Bucky to satisfy every single one of his many debauched kinks.
> 
> [Love Is Blind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366393) (14,512 words) - After a mission goes horribly wrong, Natasha is left completely blind. As SHIELD scientists desperately seek a cure, Natasha must come to terms with her disability.
> 
> [At Your Service](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624802) (12,931 words) - Clint and Natasha lose a bet. Phil gets them to dress up and act out some of his many, many Captain America fanboy fantasies.
> 
> [The Adventures Of Steve Rogers, Newsboy Extraordinaire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153170) (11,161 words) - 7-year-old Steve has Selective Mutism. When Steve finds himself confronting a dangerous criminal, will he find the courage within himself to save the day - and even find his voice?
> 
> [Special Delivery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28528866) (5,052 words) - It all started as a dumb joke. Bucky would order ridiculous items from the grocery store, and the cute delivery guy, Steve, would deliver them. Now the joke has gotten way out of hand - and Bucky has to convince everyone that he is NOT a perverted weirdo with a lust for vegetables.
> 
> [The End Of The Line](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7088617) (3,433 words) - Bucky falls from the train to his assumed death. Steve has to come to terms with a world without him in it.
> 
> [Turkish Oil Wrestling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7013452) (2,620 words) - Steve and Bucky decide to have a wrestling match to settle an old score. Cue them stripping down to their pants, getting oiled up and engaging in a vigorous wrestling match that leaves them both hot and sweaty.
> 
> [In Memoriam: James Buchanan Barnes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7924684) (120 words) - A grief-stricken Steve writes a poem in honour of his best friend.
> 
> And more... Click my profile to see all my fics! <3


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